Paradise of the Mind
by KRRouse
Summary: Five years after “At World’s End”, Ragetti, an aging Pintel, and the rest of the Black Pearl's crew are still searching feverishly for Jack Sparrow and the charts to the Fountain of Youth. Sequel to “Family Reunion” and “Just the Way it Should Be."
1. Catching Up

**Paradise of the Mind**

There was plenty of wind to go around.

The sky was churning with it, whistling and howling with its hollow voice as it swept a wispy cluster of clouds away from their safe positions and across the pale afternoon sky. On the shores beyond, the patches of palm trees rocked and swayed wildly in the sand as their fresh green fronds were whipped about in the breeze. Even the sea had caught its share of the gust, as a light spray of salt water leapt up from the waves to merge with the air that blustered above it. All were telltale signs of the untamed wind that had risen this day.

But it was the thin, elegant outlines of a dozen drifting sea birds that showed the breeze's presence most clearly. They were pelicans, shown by their long, distinguished beaks, and they had broken out of their single-file formation to spiral freely with the directionless air. The birds were far from intelligent, but their instincts told them one thing: the wind created waves, which stirred the water straight down to the sandy floor in a funnel of confusion. And where there was confusion, a school of very dazed, very careless fish could be found.

The flock's leader was the first to spot their prize, and with a signaling its fellows to follow suite, the dark brown bird angled its wings downward and dove, plunging gracefully towards the large, glittering shape that floundered in the surf below. As it neared the end of its drop, the pelican drew its wings tightly against its body, gaining momentum, and then shot down through the churning blue surface with barely a ripple. No sooner had it done this than the bird swiftly opened its mouth, allowing the fleshy lower half of its beak to swell out like a captured sail and engulf its unsuspecting prey like a deftly wielded net. A thought that mirrored victory suddenly flashed in the feathered creature's mind as it felt that large round object tumble into its grasp—it could now appease its hunger for the day.

But the minute the bird resurfaced, this simple delusion was shattered by the taste of bitter liquid and the feeling of something cold and rock-hard sliding down its throat. Its graceful disposition abruptly forgotten, the old pelican began beating its wings frantically against the waves and gagged sickeningly. It wasn't a fish that the sky-dweller had snatched away.

Finally, the bird's panicked efforts paid of and it noisily expelled its unwanted find back into the water, where the foul-tasting hazard resumed its mindless bobbing. Recovered once more, the flustered pelican stared at the strange object in baffled wonder, then made a single angry squawk in hopes of triggering some sort of revealing reaction from it. This plan, however, failed to give results.

After all, empty rum bottles were incapable of hearing.

A second passed, and one of the sea bird's younger comrades suddenly began jabbering at its own unidentified foe—a much larger, much rounder wooden object that any human would have easily recognized as an apple barrel. Shortly after this second mystery object arrived onto the unfriendly scene, a flat, four-legged wooden item chose to make its entrance as well. It was a bench, or at least it had been at one point in its artificial life.

The entire ocean seemed to be dotted with these bizarre crafts, harboring their clumsy silhouettes and tossing them about as the breeze continued to play with its surroundings. Utterly perplexed by this discovery, the twelve pelicans each lifted their graying heads to the horizon, searching for the items' source, and after a brief pause, they found it—and promptly took flight as one at the startling sight.

The _Black Pearl_'s crewmen, however, barely spared the frightened birds a glance; there was plenty of wind to go around.

And besides, their current situation was just a trifle more important than a silly flock of overgrown seagulls at the moment.

"_Come on! Set to it yeh mangy bilge rats or I'll throw YOU overboard!_"

The first mate's gritty voice sent a ripple of haste through the crew, and the handful of men standing directly beside him threw themselves even more vigorously into their work as if the devil himself had given the order. They were each standing elbow-to-elbow, working together as a fright-fueled assembly line as they feverishly executed one the oldest and greatest strategies for building their vessel's speed: emptying the ship.

The first crewman in the line, a young, clean-shaven lad wearing a battered tri-corner hat, continued their process by snatching up another barrel from the deck and shoving it into the next pirate's waiting hands. An older, grizzled sailor, the second man quickly accepted the load, shouldering his squawking blue and yellow macaw, and immediately passed the wooden burden on to the third crewman without a word. This choice of silence, for the older man's part, was due partially to a lack of anything useful to say at the moment; for the most part, however, it was due to the lack of a tongue. As soon as the barrel was out of his grasp, Isaac Cotton's frazzled parrot erupted with another shriek that branded an agonized cringe onto its owner's weathered face.

The third and fourth men practically took the load as one. Both were barely into their thirties, sporting identical jittery stances and tattered sailor garb that didn't quite match their dazed expressions. If there were any two men on the crew who looked nothing like pirates—despite their authenticity—it was Joseph Murtogg and Peter Mullroy, the bumbling pair of Navy soldiers who'd literally jumped ship from the East India Trading Company five years ago. The uncharismatic duo had stumbled and staggered their way through every high-sea battle and tavern brawl that the _Black Pearl_'s voyage had dragged them through, and although they still looked like the same useless new recruits, the two could hold their own as well as the captain himself. They'd had good teachers, and as soon as they were handed the heavy wooden barrel, they spun around in unison to pass it off to one of those teachers: the fifth and final man.

Ignoring the filthy blonde hair flapping in his face, Ragetti snatched away the burden and gratefully hurled it overboard.

"How many more've we got left?" he asked his companions. Before either could answer, the young crewmember in the tri-corner hat jumped in.

"We're spent on barrels!" the lad shouted with surprising authority. "There's still a few crates down in the brig that haven't been taken yet!"

Ragetti was strangely silent at the other's response, and so it was Mullroy who chose to finish the exchange. "We might as well get rid of 'em too while we're at it!"

The young crewmember barely gave a nod to this suggestion and turned his sharp gaze to Cotton. "Follow me. We're getting them!"

A second later, the two were off, leaving their three fellows standing by the rail. Ragetti anxiously watched them go, then shifted his attention over to his remaining comrades as they gawked at the cause of all the commotion.

"I hope they don't toss our gunpowder too," Murtogg gulped.

Ragetti leaned against the rail with equal amazement. "I hope they don't toss _us_."

Less than thirty meters behind them, the _HMS Prowess_ continued its pursuit.

Ragetti couldn't remember how it'd all started. It'd seemed like one minute, he'd been in the crew's quarters, idly searching for some sharpening tools, and the next, he was scrambling about on deck with Murtogg and Mullroy in a frenzy while Pintel and the captain were howling orders. The _Black Pearl_ had a Royal Navy vessel in hot pursuit, and for the first time in any of her pirate crewmen's lives, the infamous black-sailed ship seemed to be the dreadfully slower of the two.

"Rags!" Pintel shouted just then, interrupting his nephew's anxious reflection and grabbing the thinner man's attention. "Rags! Run up the lines an' see wot's ahead!"

Ragetti was hesitant. "But Marty's already climbin' up to the crow's nest!" he called back.

"Aye!" Pintel snapped in return. "And if 'e's lucky, 'e'll be at eye level wif _me_ in twenty minutes!" He jabbed a thumb at the nearby ratlines. "Take the 'ole bloody two seconds!"

Ragetti smirked at the dry-witted joke—as pint-sized Marty was barely the height of a doorknob—and obeyed his uncle's order, much to Murtogg and Mullroy's dismay.

Climbing the ratlines was nothing foreign to Ragetti. The endless rope ladders were like an old friend, always inviting him into their web to escape from the world below and remember the fun and freedom that brought every sailor and young lad closer to piracy. Besides, Ragetti was a tall man, and a tall man felt most at home in the purely vertical world that only the mast and ratlines could provide.

In a matter of seconds, the lanky figure reached the halfway point of his ascent, and a lifelong habit made him stop to take in the generous breeze. Ragetti felt the wind a lot more these days; his changing taste in style over the past five years had prompted him to grow his hair out to an almost unrecognizable length. Today, the rail-thin pirate sported an even thicker, scruffier chin of beard stubble and a mane of blonde hair that was constantly whipping him in the face, despite his attempts to keep it in place with a faded red bandanna. The wind always found a way of catching his grime-filled locks, and in a way, its interference was welcomed. Being able to feel the soft breeze reminded Ragetti that he was no longer cursed—a sign that things were finally improving. And the young rascal was particularly enjoying the hopefulness that these winds were offering him today.

His uncle, however, didn't share this same optimism.

"Well?!" Pintel shouted from far below. "Wotta yeh sees?!"

Above him, Ragetti snapped out of his blissful trance. He was up here for a reason. Climbing a few steps higher, he leaned forward and squinted ahead at the approaching horizon.

"Rags!"

"Nuffin!" Ragetti reported loudly down to Pintel, then resumed his task. His flailing hair made it difficult enough to see, and the harsh bobbing and swaying of the escape-driven _Pearl_ made it nearly impossible to focus on anything. As far as Ragetti could tell, the water was perfectly calm and flat in all directions, but as the minutes of searching dragged on, his single sharp eye seemed to catch sight of something far ahead of the ship's bow. Unsure, he squinted even harder and lifted himself one more meter.

From the main deck, Pintel noticed this tentative change in Ragetti's behavior. "Rags?" he called up again, only a little less impatient. "Wotta yeh sees now?"

The younger pirate hesitated for a final moment as he tried to confirm his thoughts. Several meters ahead, just beneath the surface of the water, he could barely make out the shape of a motionless gray hulk. It was becoming clearer as the ship grew closer, and with every passing second, he was becoming more and more sure of what it was. Finally, his instincts strong and confident enough, Ragetti shouted back down with an answer.

"There's a reef!" He pointed sharply forward. "There's a 'uge reef up ahead!"

Believing the claim, Pintel immediately nodded to show his understanding and hurried off without so much as a skeptical question—a level of trust that he reserved solely for Rags. Even so, this personal reason for promptness was not the only one that carried Robert Pintel so hastily away. There was a possibility of danger ahead of the _Black Pearl _and her entire crew, and it was his responsibility to inform the proper authority.

"Captain!" the balding first mate hollered up as he neared the stairs to the quarterdeck. He practically climbed the handful of steps on all fours from the relentless pain in his legs. "_Captain!_"

To his left on the quarterdeck stood the strong, sturdy figure of the captain, gazing forward into the wind as his leathery hands grasped the ship's wheel. He was not towering in height, but his firm, squared shoulders and his wide-brimmed hat with its dark plumes made him a daunting figure to all manner of seafarers. And rightly so; the Pearl's commander was a literal vault of experience, filled with wisdom and lore from all corners of the earth, and even the waters that lay beyond them. He turned ever so slightly at the sound of Pintel's hasty calls, and when his gasping first mate finally arrived at his side, the captain never dropped the focused expression from his own weathered old face.

Pintel clutched his side to catch his breath. "We's comin' up on a reef!"

Standing at the wheel, sharp and attentive, stood Captain Joshamee Gibbs.

"A reef?" he echoed urgently.

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Soon to be updated!


	2. Scrambling Schemers

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel, Ragetti, Gibbs, Cotton, Marty, Murtogg, Mullroy, or anyone else in this story who sounds familiar. :-) )

**Paradise of the Mind**

Pintel nodded frantically. "Aye! Rags says there's one ahead of us!"

Gibbs tightened his grip on the wheel even more. "How far've we got left t'go?"

The first mate opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly realized that he had no idea himself. Wrinkling his brow in confusion, Pintel immediately turned around and charged back down the quarterdeck stairs towards the mast.

"Rags!" he called up then. "How far ahead is it?!"

"About four ship-lengths!" Ragetti shouted back.

Below him, Pintel nodded and hurried back up to the quarterdeck.

"About four ship-lengths!" he repeated to Gibbs.

The captain turned the wheel slightly. "Aye! We've got time to spare then!"

However, high up in the ratlines, Ragetti was becoming indecisive.

"No, wait!" he yelled with all his might. "It's three!"

"It's three!" Pintel shouted in turn to Gibbs.

"Actually, scratch that! It_ is_ four!"

"Four!" Pintel echoed loudly. Gibbs rolled his eyes in exasperation from this unnecessary game of Messenger.

"Well, it's probably three _now!_" Ragetti corrected.

Pintel whirled around to glare up at him. "_Will you make up your mind?!_"

"Ask 'im if 'e sees an empty space in it!" Gibbs interrupted. "A passage!"

Pintel stared at the other man as if he'd just sprouted a second head. "Yeh wanna go through the reef?"

"Either that or we bring 'er 'round and sail back towards _those_ lads!" Gibbs shot back with a nod to the _Prowess_.

The bald first mate bobbed his head in agreement at first, then sagged his heavy shoulders with dread as he realized the repetitive task ahead of him. Gritting his teeth, Pintel turned once again and hurried down the steps to the mast a second time.

"Do yeh see any way 'frough it, Rags?!" he gasped up to his nephew.

Ragetti looked like _he_ was talking to a madman now. "What? Go _'frough _it? Who's muttin-'eaded idea was _that?_"

"_Just answer the bloody question!_"

Ragetti paused to squint forward again. "…I can't tell!" he reported. "It's too low down!"

This time, the call reached Gibbs's ears.

"Low down…" the burly captain murmured to himself. He fell silent for a moment, and then a wishful thought suddenly passed through his mind. It sounded ridiculous at first, but then again, he'd learned from years of sailing with the notorious Jack Sparrow that ridiculous things usually worked.

A clever gleam flashed in Gibbs's eyes then, and he lifted his head to look up at Ragetti. "So low, yeh'd say, that it could be overlooked but not over-passed?!" he hollered over the wind. "A sort of in-the-middle depth what could puzzle a man's right judgment somethin' fowl an'lead 'im to wrong?!"

Ragetti blinked dumbly. "…If yeh wanna calls it that! Aye!"

Gibbs nodded sharply and lowered his head in deep thought. Beside him, a panting and wheezing Pintel staggered up onto the quarterdeck one more time.

"Orders, Cap'n?" he managed to ask between gasps.

The _Black Pearl_'s commander hesitated for one more second as he weighed his options, then finally spoke up with determination. "Stay on course! Lose whatever's ballast is left and keep 'er steady!"

Pintel was utterly horrified. "_WOT?_"

"Set to it, the lotta' yeh!" Gibbs went on, undaunted.

"Yer gonna run 'er aground?!" Pintel roared.

"Aye!" the captain replied with a triumphant grin. "We'd run 'er aground in a _full-weight_ vessel, but with all our cargo thrown _overboard_…"

The first mate tilted his head oddly. "The hull'll be less submerged?" he guessed. "…But that Navy Ship's won't be…"

Gibbs's only response was a sly glance, and it was enough to spark the energy back in Pintel. A wicked grin split the bald pirate's lips, and he turned with a conniving cackle to face the crew.

"You 'eard the cap'n, lads!" he bellowed with fiery glee. "Set to it or I'll 'ave yer guts for garters!!"

Ragetti dawned an equally huge grin at the order. He quickly adjusted his footing just then, preparing to climb back down, but as he did so, he shifted his gaze over to the _Prowess_.

And just like that, his grin disappeared.

Pintel and Gibbs wouldn't get to follow their plan after all.

"Pinters?" he called down anxiously. Below on the quarterdeck, the racket of Pintel's zealous orders drowned his warning out. "_Pinters?_"

"Come on, yeh lazy, mud-lickin' blighters!" the first mate howled on, oblivious. "There's more speed t'catch in them sails! And pitch those barrels! Our cap'n don't like apples anymore!"

"_PINTEL!_"

Ragetti's shouts finally reached their target, but he was far too late to prevent the damage that was coming.

_BOOM!_

_SMASH!_

An instant later, Pintel and every other pirate on the deck was thrown forward as a sickening jolt rumbled through the _Black Pearl_. A wild shiver ran up the ratlines in turn, and Ragetti felt his stomach wrench as the whip-like effect jerked him sharply away from the ropes. His feet flew out from their holdings, but before the scrawny man even realized his peril, he was slammed violently back against his wobbling ladder. The rest of the crew's startled yelps hung in the air for another tense moment. Two ship-lengths behind them all, the _Prowess_ had broken off from the chase.

Instead, it had turned sideways, preferring to simply fire away at its prey.

Pintel staggered back to his feet in a daze, glancing around irately as he tried to piece together his hectic situation again. Beside him, Gibbs hoisted himself up from the deck with the aid of his steering wheel and whirled around angrily to observe the other ship. He'd barely even glanced at the Naval vessel before his frustration hit him, and he tugged at his hat brim with a colorful hiss of "_Festerin' lobster's legs!_"

"Wot?" Pintel asked anxiously.

"We've gotta turn the _Pearl_ to the side now too!" the captain explained huffily, and began spinning the wooden wheel for all it was worth. "They'll blast us all the way from stern to bow otherwise!" The layer of splinters that had leapt on deck were proof that their enemy had already tried this once.

He did a fair enough job at hiding it, but Gibbs was immensely disappointed at having to abort his plan; ones this brilliant didn't come that often to him, and he enjoyed reveling in the sense of achievement that they left him with. A small part of him always envied Jack Sparrow's never-ending ability to hatch a perfect scheme at the drop of a hat, and although Gibbs plainly didn't have this skill himself, he felt he was more than capable of keeping Jack's ship in one piece, if nothing else. And sadly, the only way to do that now was by turning the _Pearl_ a full ninety degrees. After all, a vessel's width was much shorter than its length, and a sideward-facing ship would give a cannonball much less to damage. The reef could wait.

While Gibbs struggled to bring the _Black Pearl_ around, Pintel's eyes were glued to the rigging. Ragetti was still latched onto the ropes high above him with a death grip, frantically trying to regain his footing. The crazy lank looked like he'd seen an entire school of Kraken, but he was perfectly alive and unhurt. Relieved at this, Pintel turned his attention back to the _Prowess_.

The enemy ship was no longer gaining—that was good, at least—but he could tell from both vessel's positions that the _Pearl_'s turn was bringing it closer to its attacker. Pintel knew the black-sailed ship almost as well as any of its former captains, and he wasn't sure how much a fight it'd be able to put up against such a surprising adversary. The _Prowess_ had already shown that it could outrun the _Black Pearl_; who was he to say that it couldn't outfight her too, especially now that the pirate vessel was damaged?

The thought of such a defeat flustered the aging buccaneer something awful, and the frustration was enough to get his temper boiling, but in the midst of all that anger and panic, Pintel was somehow able to keep a hold on his mind, and an old but unforgotten idea suddenly came to him.

"…Cut off the sea serpent's 'ead…" he murmured, lost in his own dazed world. Gibbs managed to overhear the thought just the same, and glanced over at his first mate in confusion.

"What's that mean?" he asked.

But Pintel was already preparing to hatch Horace Yager's ageless plot. "Wotever I want it to." He stepped closer to the steps and bellowed up to Ragetti again with all of his strength.

"Rags!! You stay up there! Get to the crow's nest!" He began looking about antsily on the quarterdeck. "Cut off the 'ead…cut off the 'ead…"

"For the love of king and county," Gibbs hissed. "What's in your head?"

"Wot—" Pintel spun around and gazed dumbly at the captain like he hadn't seen him standing there before. After a second, the bald pirate's wits returned to him and he spoke. "We can't run away from 'em now. We gotta fight 'em off."

"And just what is this 'serpent's head' what needs cutting off?"

"The captain." Pintel sounded like Gibbs's confusion was entirely unjustifiable. "Take 'im down, they got no one left t'listen to."

The captain's eyes gleamed at this. "And they'll be naught but a boatload of senseless sea snails!" he chimed in eagerly. He turned to glare at the waters ahead. "Aye, it's a madman's plan. That means it's bound to work!"

Pintel grinned with as much pride as he could muster. "'Fought it up all by meself."

Gibbs nodded absently, but when he didn't hear the sound of rushing footsteps, he glared back at his stupidly smiling comrade. "Well set to it!" he shouted.

Snapped out of his happy trance, Pintel suddenly sprang back to life and hurried clumsily down the steps to the main deck.

"Murtogg!" he bellowed to the first crewman he saw. "Mullroy! Get the lads ready! We's 'avin' an old-fashioned sea battle!"

The gawky pair jerked back like they'd both been clapped across the face, and took off to obey the first mate. Pintel watched them go from the shade of his own tri-corner hat, then turned to another crewmember to continue the anticipating cycle. The Black Pearl's crew was going to cut, shoot, and claw their way out of this disaster.

And Ragetti, tucked safely away up in the crow's nest, would have no part in it.

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Or will he? Soon to be updated!


	3. Pirates on the Prowl

(Disclaimer: I own nothing)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Ragetti had the best view of the situation.

The _Prowess_ hadn't moved a hair since it'd fired its first shot. Under most conditions, the _Black Pearl_ could have easily used this to its advantage and simply sailed out of the enemy cannons' range—heaven knew she was fast enough to do it in time—but luck had been against the legendary vessel from the start of this grim episode. This was no wild and senseless band of pirates that they were up against; Navy soldiers were disciplined, and disciplined fighters knew how to reload their weapons quickly.

Watching the hail of oncoming cannon fire behind the _Pearl_, Ragetti couldn't help but frown. That kind of efficiency certainly looked good at a time like this, but he knew all too well just how costly and painful it was to obtain. He and Pintel both did.

He pushed the thought aside suddenly and glanced around urgently. The distance between the two ships was rapidly shrinking, and he had to climb up the rest of the way to the crow's nest. Squaring his bony shoulders, Ragetti raised his eye towards his destination and quickly resumed his ascent.

…And was immediately yanked back down.

Confused, Ragetti glanced around in search of what had stopped him. Oddly, he saw nothing, and started to climb again.

This time, he felt something narrow jab against his ribcage in addition to the restraining jerk. An anxious look appeared on his face at this, and the scrawny pirate quickly dropped his gaze to stare with dull shock at the cause of his dilemma. It was his sword.

Or rather, it was the loop of rope that his sword was somehow caught in.

Ragetti froze. The first cannonball. The _Prowess_'s first shot to the stern of the _Pearl_. The big jolt had almost knocked him right out of the ratlines; his scabbard must've slipped in between the ropes when he'd been thrown back into place!

Recovering from his stupor, the thin man cautiously released the rope in his left hand and reached down to free his weapon. Of all times for this to happen…

"Look out!" a voice suddenly shouted on the deck below.

Before he even had the chance to react, Ragetti felt another shudder, this time from the port side of the ship. The force of this latest cannonball's impact, luckily, wasn't enough to throw him off of his footholds again, but it was more than enough to throw him completely off balance. And unfortunately, balance was a terrible thing for a man to lose when he was gripping a sword.

_Whoosh!_

_Slice!_

Ragetti instantly swung to the side with a yelp, sword in hand, and floundered his left arm in the air as he struggled to stay upright. His eye flew straight to the spot in the ratlines where his weapon had been caught—a spot that now had nothing to show but a handful of frayed and severed ropes.

And then…

_SNAP!_

Ragetti lifted his head nervously.

Not good.

The ropes above him continued to strain with their excess wait.

_SNAP! SNAP!_

There was nowhere else to go. Ragetti scrambled back down, frantically looking from the safe deck below and the treacherous ropes above him. All the while, he was gripping his sword tightly in his left hand, jutting his elbow into the ladder's square-shaped gaps for extra support.

_Almost there,_ he thought feverishly. _Almost there. You could prob'ly fit two men in that space. Maybe three. Or four… Almost there…_

SNAP!

He wasn't quite as close as he'd thought.

"AAAHH!"

The last of his support gone, Ragetti feel backwards dizzily. It should have all gone wrong for him at that point, but dumb luck made his narrow legs slip through the rope footholds at that exact instant, and he stayed where he was. However, when the sickening topple ended, Ragetti found himself dangling completely upside-down, anchored in place by his knees. He was still clutching his sword, and his knife had found its way into his right hand when it'd fallen out of his coat pocket.

Temporarily motionless, the scrawny young man stared down at the weapons in his fists, then glanced up at his legs in the ratlines. Then he lowered his head to glare straight ahead at his upside-down world, and said the only thing that came to mind.

"Bloody Navy."

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Murtogg and Mullroy were still making their rounds.

It was obvious at this point in the scuffle that things weren't going to end well for one of the two crews, whether that end involved death, capture, or both. The matter of who would come out on top in all this depended on which crew boarded their enemy's vessel first—and _that_ depended on which crew could get their men together first. With this crucial factor in mind, Pintel had taken it upon himself to help his two awkward companions with their recruiting.

Huffing with anticipation, the three practically threw themselves down the stairs to below deck, where they were greeted with the raucous blasting of cannons and shouting pirates.

"Oi!" Pintel shouted to anybody who would listen. "Get your hides up on deck, lads! We's turnin' the tables on this one!" Despite himself, he grinned. It was fun to shout orders, especially when he had a golden idea to back them up!

The young crewman in the tri-corner hat looked sharply up at the stocky first mate. "What do you mean?"

Pintel was all but beaming. "We's boardin' the _Prowess_."

At this, the younger pirate threw down the powder barrel he'd been attempting to open and hurried dutifully over to join the first mate. From the next cannon, Cotton threw a quick glance to his loading partner and climbed to his feet as well.

His partner, still standing with determination by their cannon, was Marty. The small-statured sailor glared harshly up at both Pintel and his exiting companion, the combat blazing in his large black eyes.

"Where're you goin'?" he demanded in a high but gravely voice. Up until now, he'd been oblivious to Pintel's presence in the room.

It was Mullroy who answered. "Onto the _Prowess_! We've got a plan to put their crew out of commission!"

Pintel turned to him indignantly. "_You_ gotta plan?"

"I meant all of us!" the former solder replied defensively.

Still beside his cannon, Marty shook his stubborn head. "Hang the plan! I'm stayin' right here!"

Pintel glared down at him then. "We needs all the men we can get!"

But Marty refused to budge. He knew the slimness of their chances as well as any other crewman on board, but for one reason or another, the past five years had given him an odd dislike for the stocky, bald fellow, and he was only willing to work with Pintel as a last resort.

"We won't need _any_ men as long as we've got cannons!" he shot back.

Apparently, his timing was as poor as his height.

_BOOM!!_

A second after he'd spat out his defiance, Marty spotted the flash of powder from across the water, and he got a close-up look at the collision that immediately followed.

WHAM!

Suddenly, the small pirate no longer had a cannon to stand next to.

All six heads whirled around to watch as the wheeled weapon rolled backwards wildly, propelled by an enemy cannonball, and slammed loudly into the opposite wall of the _Black Pearl_. Unfortunately, its journey didn't end at this point, and it flew straight through the wooden planks as if they hadn't even been there. By the time the incident was over, they weren't. The next thing everybody heard was a heavy splash outside as the cannon's wayward voyage drew to a close.

Marty gawked at the ironic scene, then turned to face his companions awkwardly. It seemed he'd reached his last resort.

He pointed a tiny but eager finger towards the stairs.

"To the _Prowess!_" he shouted fanatically.

"Aye!" the others all shouted, and the pack of warriors turned together and zealously hurried above deck once more.

---------------------------------------------

Ragetti was at the end of his rope, in the most literal and unpleasant way.

He was still mostly upside-down, but he was rapidly adjusting to his vulnerable position. Reaching up cautiously, slipping his weapon blades through the rope footholds with their flat edges down, he was able to hoist himself upright bit by bit. It would have been so much easier to simply use his hands in this process, but he'd already seen that his sword and knife wouldn't stay put in their sheathes, and he wasn't about to drop either one in the midst of this chaos. So for now, he had to make due with his crude grapples and pray for the best.

"Easy…easy now…" he murmured to himself. Again, he reached up with his knife arm and edged the tiny blade through the next highest square gap. Once it felt securely in place, the lanky sailor carefully pulled himself further up into a sitting position and lifted his sword arm in turn. If he could just get upright in the next few minutes, he'd be able to climb the rest of the way down and go below deck to help fight. Climbing the ratlines was absolute bliss, but firing a cannon was so much more useful at a time like this.

Another blast of powder shattered his concentration at that instant, and Ragetti snapped his head up—or technically, down—to search for the next oncoming disaster. Now that he thought about it, being on the rope ladder really didn't feel that blissful at all anymore. Frowning, the pirate turned his attention back to his task.

But as rotten luck would have it, a thick strand of blonde hair was now blocking his view.

Ragetti shook his head sharply as he tried to toss the obstruction aside. When this failed to work, he tried blowing it aside, still with no results.

"Bleedin'—" he muttered. He started blowing harder, sounding like a deflating blowfish in the process, but was once again unable to clear his view. How could it _be_ so bloody hard to get hair out of his face when he was _upside-down?_

This silliness went on for a few more seconds, and then Ragetti began to grow impatient. He shook his head even harder, so much so that his arms even twitched from the struggle. How did this happen? In twenty-six years of piracy, he couldn't recall ever having a single mishap like this while climbing the ropes—now he'd just had three in the past two minutes! Was he being punished for something or was he just plain—

_Snap!_

His thoughts interrupted yet again, Ragetti looked up with a bulging eye.

Make that four mishaps.

Maybe using his weapons as rope-climbing tools wasn't such a crafty idea after all.

It was too late to grab another support. Ragetti's knife blade—dull though it was—had severed his only lifeline, and the force of the break sent him backwards and down once again…

"Gaaaah!" the bony figure yelped. His arms windmilled frantically in his freefall, and he automatically surrendered his grip on his sword hilt. Ragetti didn't see where his trusted weapon landed, but he didn't really care to know at that moment. He was falling, and now his left hand was free to make a move.

In a heartbeat, he lashed out to the side and his spindly fingers snatched up the first rope they felt. The single instant of falling was over, and now irony was carting its lanky victim to the next stage of the journey.

Or rather, to the next deck.

Ragetti yelped again as he swung sideways, carried by the free-hanging rope that he'd cut before, and suddenly found himself out over the water itself. Being a terrible swimmer, the pirate was more than content to stay where he was and allow the rope to bring him back to the _Black Pearl_, but his treacherous ferry had another destination planned for him. As Ragetti swung out over the ocean's waves, sailing gracelessly towards the Prowess, the weight of his body pulled downwards, and the single rope that held him aloft strained with its load…and broke.

"AAAAAAAHHH!"

_Thud!_

Pain shot up Ragetti's back, and he tumbled several meters before coming to an agonized stop. His narrow face twisted into a grimace, and he rolled stiffly onto his stomach with a groan. Then his senses returned to him, and he stumbled to his feet in a panic. The hapless man was standing on the deck of the _HMS Prowess_, his enemy's ship, and he wasn't alone.

Back on the _Pearl_, Pintel and his unsightly band were preparing to make their own cross over.

"Do it now!"

Murtogg and Mullroy whipped their heads round in unison and glared at the first mate like he was a madman.

"_Now?_" Murtogg echoed in horror.

"They'll chop us into fish bait if we swing over this early!" Mullroy added matter-of-factly.

"That's why yeh's swingin' over _together!_" Pintel blasted back. "Now _do it!_"

Before either of the two could protest further, Cotton and Marty quickly stepped up form behind and gave them a hearty shove. Murtogg and Mullroy let out twin shrieks, but a second later, they were over the enemy rail and fumbling for their swords.

Marty and Cotton were the next ones to swing over, and they did so in the same manner. As soon as the odd pair were across, Pintel reached out for the rope as it swung back.

"One at a time, this time," he said to the young crewman, who still stood beside him. The fair-faced lad ignored his order without a blink of the eye, however, and snatched up the rope for himself. Pintel squared his jaw and resentfully watched the youth swing across.

The young crewman hit the other deck ready—with his sword and pistol drawn. He never even bothered to join his fellow crewmembers; the instant the youth's boots touched the Navy planks, he lashed out with his weapons and began taking down his surrounding opponents. Before a moment had passed, three soldiers lay wounded at his feet.

But as the young pirate was engrossed in his combat, an unseen lieutenant came charging from behind, and with one sharp motion of his arm, he drew his sword and swung it fiercely at the lad. However, whether by pure chance or instinct, his target ducked at that exact second, and the blow that was meant for his back instead knocked off his tri-cornered hat, sending it into his enemy's hand.

And then the sneaky lieutenant received his own surprise.

His hat gone, the young pirate's long dark hair suddenly came down around his shoulders, and when he turned to glare at his ambusher, his identity was at last revealed.

The crewman was not a young man at all, but in fact, a woman.

That fair face and dark locks were the last thing the lieutenant saw before his opponent decided to use her third weapon—a musket that was slung on her back. Grabbing the leather strap on her shoulder with one hand, the female buccaneer reached down with the other to grasp the barrel of the gun, then yanked it upwards with all of her might. The butt of the musket swung sharply up towards her baffled adversary and hit him precisely where she'd wanted it to: in his groin.

The lieutenant's face immediately went pale, and he toppled over in a painful heap with bulging eyes. The woman gave him a quick scowl, then bent own and curtly snatched back her hat.

A short distance way, Ragetti stopped in his tracks and smiled timidly, impressed. His fellow crewmember's unintended revelation was no surprise to him; the men on the _Black Pearl_ had learned long ago that they had a woman in their midst. Now, her secret was little more than a simple but quite effective battle tactic.

At last, Pintel clumsily swung over himself, stumbling slightly as he landed on deck. The stocky man tugged once at his hat, then pulled out his cutlass to join his already drawn pistol.

"Lay it on 'em, lads!" was all he had to say.

And his comrades complied.

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Soon to be updated!


	4. Battle aboard the Prowess

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, ships, places, and events in this story that you might recognize from a certain movie trilogy)

**Paradise of the Mind**

The battle was raging.

Ragetti stumbled frantically away from a soldier's swinging blade, and with no other defense in sight, he ducked around the _Prowess_'s mast for whatever cover it could provide him for now. The senseless din of combat was howling in his ears, muting his thoughts, and the swarm of uniformed enemies surrounding him were nothing but an angry red and white blur to his searching eye. Gibbs's salty voice rang out hotly in the distance, only adding to the confusion as the pirate captain shouted orders to his remaining crewmen.

Ragetti could see Murtogg and Mullroy off to his right now, standing back-to-back as they squared against a ring of soldiers. With smoking pistols and rusted cutlasses clutched tightly in each of their grimy fists, it was impossible to believe that either one had ever spent a moment in the same clothes as his enemies. A few meters away from the pair, the female pirate deftly fended off her own handful of adversaries. There was something almost rhythmic about the way she fought, swinging her sword and kicking her foes away as if in tune with some unheard melody, and her pace was thrown off only slightly as she dodged a falling soldier. The plummeting man had been knocked from the Navy ship's rigging, courtesy of Marty's pistol. Just below those ropes, the pint-sized pirate shouted and lashed at more opponents with Cotton by his side.

And then, in the midst of all this wild and senseless chaos, there was Pintel.

Nobody would have thought that the grizzled buccaneer was even half of his age if they'd seen him right then. Pintel's face was boiling red, and his battle cry was nothing short of a barbaric roar as he vengefully took on the soldiers around him, standing his ground all the while. Swing here, shoot there, stab one man, club another; the stubborn fellow was blissfully engrossed in his own pattern of combat, and nothing in the world could have snatched him out of it.

Taking in the scope of the scene, Ragetti anxiously jerked his head left and right in search of another salvation. This fight was getting ugly, and if he expected to last any longer in it, he would need to get his hands on another weapon. At last, his twitching eye came to rest on a shadowy, downward-leading staircase, and the gangly man bolted towards it as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. He almost met an enemy's bayonet on the way, but Ragetti avoided the wicked device easily enough, and a heartbeat later, he reached that staircase and made his rapid descent below the deck of the _Prowess_.

It was oddly quiet on this lower level of the ship, compared to the raucous din that he'd left above him on deck. It was much darker as well, and Ragetti stumbled slightly as his eye struggled to adjust to this abrupt change. There was no time for him to stop; for all he knew, half of the soldiers on board could've been tailing him right now with their muskets ready. Stopping was too much of a risk at the moment, although Ragetti found running equally treacherous as he blindly collided with a stack of powder barrels. The mishap sent him toppling onto all fours, but he compensated by simply crawling as fast as he could.

"Weapons, weapons!" he squeaked absent-mindedly to himself all the while. "Need a weapon!"

His scrambling continued for another minute or so, but his senses soon returned to him and the tall pirate was able to piece together his surroundings. Once he did, a huge grin split Ragetti's face; this was the right place to find a weapon. Racks and crates of all sorts of the vicious tools lined the walls in all directions—all he had to do was pick one.

Still running, Ragetti allowed his eye to resume searching, and all of a sudden…

"Hey!"

The sound of the sharp voice was enough to finally make the pirate stop.

Ragetti's eye grew huge. There, less than a meter in front of him, stood a young and very unhappy Naval soldier. The uniformed fellow was almost a head shorter than his apparent foe, but the firm and angry look on his face showed that he had no intention of backing down from a fight.

The soldier reached for his sword hilt. "What are you doing down here?" he demanded.

Ragetti hesitated only for a second until he spotted one of the objects that he'd come for. It was then that he chose to answer the question.

With one swift motion, Ragetti swooped his hands down and snatched up the first weapon he could reach: a chainshot. Baring his teeth, the thin pirate savagely displayed the iron device, prepared to use them.

At first, the soldier looked startled; somehow, he hadn't been expecting such an honest response. But as soon as his initial surprise wore off, he snapped back to his senses and decided to give his own reply. If warfare was the language that this sea dog spoke, then he would be more than happy to have a conversation. Quickly but calmly, the soldier reached over in a similar manner and seized a weapon even better than his sword.

A musket.

Suddenly, Ragetti's ferocious glare was gone.

The pirate paused then to glance awkwardly back and forth from his would-be artillery to his opponent's. It looked like he'd lost this draw. Eyes gaping, Ragetti lifted his head to meet the soldier's gaze…and both of them abruptly broke out into odd laughter.

"Fancy that 'appenin', aye?" the lanky buccaneer offered with a grin. The other man chuckled in agreement.

And then Ragetti swung his chainshot.

The iron balls connected squarely with the underside of the musket's barrel, sharply tilting it straight up into the air. The young soldier never lost his rip on the gun, but the shock of the assault made him jerk back, and his fingers instinctively squeezed the trigger.

_BANG!_

Ragetti jumped a little himself as sawdust suddenly rained down from the ceiling.

Above deck, Pintel was locked in his own man-to-man duel.

"_Come on!_" he shouted boastfully at his opponent. The faltering officer stumbled back as he fought to stay upright, then made another frantic swing at the pirate.

Pintel blocked the blow easily and took another taunting step forward. This scrambling ninny was one of the worst swordsmen that he'd ever come across, and the aged sea rat had come across more than he could remember in his years. As he knocked aside another pathetic attack, Pintel couldn't help but smirk; he could end this silly excuse for a fight whenever he wanted to—it was all a matter of how much fun he wanted to have with his enemy first.

"Yeh call yerself a _fighter?!_" he shouted again with a grin. "You ain't even good enough for a _recruit!_ Swing like yeh're tryin' t'_hit_ sumfin!"

The soldier readily complied, but was again deflected.

"Are you a soldier or a salt-maker?!" Pintel crowed. "Come on, _come at me!_"

But right at that fateful second, their combat led them to a very crucial spot on the deck—directly above another certain feuding pair.

And as soon as Pintel had finished his taunt, the shot that Ragetti'd set off found a target.

_BANG!_

And just like that, Pintel no longer had a sword to swing.

The bald pirate jerked back in surprise. His weapon had been shot clear out of his hand! He anxiously glanced left and right, trying to spot the shooter. Where had that shot come from?

A moment of searching passed, until he turned his head forward and finally stopped. Then at that second, as he gazed in disbelief at his armed foe, another startling realization dawned on him.

Grinning much more nervously, Pintel help up his empty hands and edged back.

"I didn't…actually mean that…" he said timidly.

Lifting his sword, the unskilled soldier suddenly let out a convincing battle cry and launched himself at Pintel. The situation was clear enough to the old pirate: now it was time for Plan "B."

Screaming, Pintel whirled around on his twitching feet and ran—with his former pushover in eager pursuit.

Bloody Navy.

---------------------------------------

It only took Ragetti two steps to vault back up the stairs to the main deck. He skidded to a halt as he reemerged into the light, taking in the situation, then resumed his advance towards the quarterdeck. The lanky pirate was now clutching the musket—which he'd stolen from his unconscious foe after giving the young soldier a good bonk on the head with the chainshot—and he had every intention of using the "borrowed" weapon. That was why Ragetti was headed for the quarterdeck.

He was going to use it on the captain.

Not to kill, of course; his goal was to only wound the man and delay any more of his orders to the soldiers. Killing had always been a favorite solution of most pirates. It was quick and easy, and there was rarely any need to clean up after a murder at sea. However, the one-eyed buccaneer no longer favored this grim method—the past _six_ years had turned him from that.

"Gaaaa!"

Ragetti whipped his head around just in time to see his uniformed attacker coming. A second later, instinct kicked in and he dropped to the deck, tripping the soldier flat onto his clean-shaven face in the process. With that enemy temporarily disposed, the bony pirate quickly stood up again and darted forward.

A few more_ Prowess _crewmen came at him afterwards, and Ragetti dodged each one as best as he could. He could see the Navy captain now, dressed in blue and calmly but swiftly turning his ship's wheel left and right as he struggled to maneuver the vessel. All the while, the lone figure was shouting orders to whoever would hear them, completely oblivious to the danger approaching from the main deck.

Squaring his shoulders, Ragetti hurriedly lifted the musket, then taking careful aim at the captain's shoulder, he reached over and squeezed the trigger…

Click!

Ragetti stopped, confused. _The musket hadn't fired!_

Suddenly antsy, he began pulling the trigger as many times as he could.

Click! Click! Click!

Now the pirate was on the verge of panic. The gun wasn't firing! Why wouldn't it shoot? It obviously worked! He'd just seen it blow a hole clear through the ceiling not a moment ago! Why the blazes wasn't it—

And then just like that, the dreadful answer dawned on him.

The musket had already been fired. Its ammunition had been used up in the scuffle with the young soldier below deck. The musket was only good for one shot!

Irritation suddenly overtook his fear, and Ragetti huffily lowered the weapon.

"Oh _come on!_" he whined angrily.

No sooner had he said this than that same handful of soldiers suddenly found him again.

"Gaaaaaaa!!!"

Not knowing what else to do, Ragetti frantically held up his empty musket, blocking the sword blow that'd been meant for his face.

He was getting rather sick of irony catching up to him.

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I promise, I will update this as soon as possible, and I will explain _why Gibbs is the captain _right after this whole fight scene is over. Hang in there, readers! 


	5. Fate Intervenes

(Disclaimer: I own nothing)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Pintel had always loved fighting, and for almost as long as he'd been a pirate, he had hated the Navy.

And now that he had a new sword grasped securely in his hands, he was willing to show both passions again.

"Yaaaah!"

With one sharp jab of the stolen Navy blade, another soldier was down.

"Aaarrr!"

An instant later, he sent yet another one toppling to the ground with a sword hilt to the face.

"Gaaaaar!" the bald man bellowed then, completely lost in his thrill.

At that moment, however, Mullroy came barreling over with blood trickling down the side of his face. The fumbling sailor had gotten separated from Murtogg in the middle of the fray, and as far as he could see, Pintel was his only comrade available. He slowed down for a split second as he saw the bald pirate knock down another opponent, then finally sprinted the rest of the distance to meet him.

As he did so, Pintel could hear Mullroy's footsteps rapidly approaching from behind, and without a thought or an ounce of pity, he whirled around with his sword raised over his head.

"_Aaaaahh!_" he shouted fiercely at his would-be attacker.

"AAAAAAHH!" Mullroy shrieked in response, horrified by the sight of Pintel's cutlass swinging towards him.

The older buccaneer stopped just then, temporarily confused by the unusually surprised gawk on his latest target's face. "Ah?" he said, confused.

"Aah…" Mullroy squeaked back rigidly.

Pintel lowered his sword slightly to squint at the younger man. An instant of tension passed, then at last, his mind returned to him.

Oh yeah. That jittery whelp wasn't in the Navy anymore.

Still at a loss for words, Pintel sharply nodded his head in recognition. "AH!"

"Ah!" Mullroy nodded back. With that, the two turned to face different foes, then letting out a final shout, they sped off in opposite directions.

At that same time, Ragetti had managed to get away from his own chasers and was rapidly making his way across the deck, empty musket still in hand. He wasn't going to last another minute on his own like this—none of the pirates would. Their only chance of getting out of this mess alive was to take out the captain, but as far as the scrawny wreck of a pirate knew, he was the only crewman free enough from combat to do that. And fittingly enough, he was also the only one without a working weapon.

He could still see the captain up on the quarterdeck. The authority figure was crouching slightly, shielding himself with the wooden steering wheel as he continued giving orders. It was difficult to see through the thickening haze of cannon smoke that surrounded him, but Ragetti was somehow able to squint beyond that choking cloud and notice one very crucial detail: the captain was alone.

Ragetti's single eye lit up with realization. No bodyguards. No heavily armed lieutenants. The captain was completely and utterly alone now! It was too great an opportunity to pass up—he had to get to that man, and he had to take him out even if it meant _breaking _that empty musket over his Navy head!

But just as Ragetti was about to lunge towards his apparent victory, the reality of battle intervened.

"_Aghhh!_"

The thin pirate stopped dead in his tracks and turned. Across the deck from him stood a soldier, standing tall as he deftly wielded a sword. And his opponent, doubled over in agony and clutching his winded gut…was Pintel.

Ragetti froze. The soldier'd hit Pintel square in the stomach with his sword hilt, and as the bald pirate bent over in pain, the uniformed enemy brought his weapon down a second time and clubbed him sharply between the shoulder blades. There was a sickening _wumpf!_ as the hilt met its mark, and Pintel hit the deck with a heavy thud. And as soon as he was down, that Navy soldier raised his sword once more, this time with its blade pointed down…

Ragetti was after him in a flash. He didn't even think—there was no time. All he knew was that his uncle was in trouble, and just like they had twenty-six years ago, his instincts kicked in from there. Raising his rifle, the one-eyed pirate sprang into action and flew towards his red and white target. Unfortunately, panic had gotten the best of him, and in all of his haste, Ragetti had forgotten to be subtle.

The soldier heard him coming before the young pirate was even close, and just as Ragetti was bearing down on him, his foe spun around, ready for the assault. He reached out sharply, and with lightning speed, the uniformed man grabbed the rifle's long barrel and yanked it up harshly. Before he could register this sudden move and release his own grip, Ragetti was jerked clear off of his feet with the gun and hit the deck on his rear-end. The soldier, now armed with two weapons, barely regarded him for a second before he swung his sword to finish off the skinny fool.

Lucky for Ragetti though, Pintel still had his senses.

The older man sneered up at his enemy, and with a growl of effort, he swung his legs out and kicked the soldier's feet out from under him. Suddenly thrown off balance, the Navy dog yelped in surprise and toppled over. Had he been in the middle of the deck, he would have simply fallen to the floor in a confused heap. However, he'd been standing by the ship's rail when he'd knocked his bald opponent down, and so when Pintel kicked him off balance, the soldier not only fell, but also made a loud—and rather rewarding—_SPLASH_ as he hit the water below.

Ragetti watched in a daze as Pintel then climbed to his feet. The bald pirate huffed a bit as he made his way over to his younger companion, and bending down to grab one of his narrow arms, he gave the other pirate a scolding glare.

"Can't leave you alone for a _second_, can I?" he grunted.

Ragetti said nothing and staggered to his own feet; there were more important things to do than argue right now.

The pair took one look at the quarterdeck and lunged towards it. For a moment, the two of them were side by side, but a gleam of metal suddenly caught Ragetti's eye and he fell back curiously. It was a cutlass that'd been dropped on the deck, and after squinting at it briefly, he recognized it as Pintel's original blade. Of course, Ragetti had not seen the ironic way that the stocky first mate had lost that weapon, but here it was now, and seeing how he had no sword of his own, the thin man eagerly snatched it up. He was probably going to need it in a minute.

Oblivious to Ragetti's discovery, Pintel continued his unsteady sprint towards the steps. Another soldier came at him from the side, but the weathered pirate's boiling temper arrived, and he made short work of his lousy attacker before a blow could be dealt. The last of his attackers dispatched, Pintel barged forward with a newfound energy and charged up the quarterdeck stairs.

He could see the captain now as well. The blue-clad man's guards were gone, and so he was currently crouched behind the wheel of the _Prowess_ for cover. The sight of it brought an ugly sneer to Pintel's already disgusted face. What a bloody coward! True enough, the pirate had never been terribly courageous himself, but a captain who ran and hid from danger was no leader to him. Pintel had come to that conclusion long ago, and he had the miserable exploits of "Captain" Francis Pellinore to thank for showing him the light. Now he saw this despicable Navy officer, and as far as the old buccaneer was concerned, this man _was_ Pellinore.

Unaware of his predicament, the captain resumed calling out orders.

"Trim the sails! Rear gunners aim for the rudder! Lieutenant—!"

In one blazing heartbeat, Pintel sprang onto the quarterdeck with a mad roar, skidded to a halt, and aimed his pistol right at the commander's head. At that exact instant, however, his target turned at the sound of the cry, and the second Pintel saw that alert face with its sharp gray eyes, he fell silent and froze. This man definitely wasn't Pellinore.

He was worse.

A moment later, Ragetti came tearing up the steps after Pintel, and also stopped in dismay when he saw the mystery captain's face.

It couldn't be…

The longest second in the world passed as he gazed at that face, taking in the memories. All of the moments, the pain, the grief…everything came back to him in a single, gut-wrenching wave of horror. He was living the nightmare all over again, and for one split instant as he looked into those gray eyes, Ragetti felt a trace of that old hopelessness come back to him.

And just like that, all of his virtue went away.

Ragetti's face twisted into a dog-like sneer, and he charged towards the captain with his sword raised. He didn't take two steps, however, when Pintel suddenly lifted one of his bulky arms and stopped him. At that, the younger pirate's look turned to confusion, but when he stared questioningly at Pintel, he was answered with a conniving grin. The old seafarer had something better in mind.

Still smirking, Pintel turned towards the captain, then taking a step towards him, he held up his pistol again and coolly placed the end of the barrel under the other's clean-shaven chin. The captain stood up taller just then, but it was clear that he would make no further move.

"Go ahead," Pintel said in a growl, cocky growl. "Finish that order."

There was a tense pause, and Ragetti could hear the commotion on the ship immediately die down behind him. The thin fellow turned to observe the scene in amazement. There was barely a soldier moving on the deck of the _Prowess_; even the other five crewmen from the _Pearl_ were standing and watching this moment of truth.

The suspense lingered on for a final instant, and then at last, the cornered captain spoke.

"Lieutenant."

Standing by the port rail of the ship, the anxious officer looked up at his commander. "…Yes Captain?"

Those gray eyes never wavered from Pintel's triumphant glare.

"Resume our original course."

----------------------------------------

Gibbs had probably set foot in more sea ports than any other pirate on the _Black Pearl_. He'd been on a ship practically since he'd learned how to walk, and many superstitious sailors even fancied the idea that he actually had a pair of fins stuffed inside his boots instead of feet. If anybody was used to seeing bizarre sights—with or without Jack Sparrow's help—it was him.

But even Captain Joshamee Gibbs was flabbergasted by the sight of seven of his crewmen hauling his enemy's commander onto the deck of the _Pearl_.

"Blister me bones!" he scolded in disbelief as he hurried up to them. "Have you lads been anchored in the heads?"

Pintel was unfazed. "Oi, we's just usin' a bit a' leverage, as ol' Jack would say."

"But I recall the plan bein' to _cut off_ the serpent's head. This seems a bit like _dislocatin'_ it," the pirate captain pointed out.

The bald first mate shrugged. "Well, it's important to 'know thine enemy.'"

Before Gibbs could say anything else, the pirates' hostage calmly spoke up.

"I've already ordered my crew to break off the pursuit," the Navy man explained unfalteringly. "There's nothing to gain in keeping me here."

Pintel's black eyes lit up with sarcasm. "I begs t'differ!"

"Aye, the man's got a point, I'm sorry to be admittin'," Gibbs said. "And who's to say his crew won't stay at our rudder to reclaim their captain?"

"_He_ does!" Pintel shot back, jabbing his finger at the prisoner and gripping his decorated arm tighter. "He said it 'imself when 'e told 'em to back off!"

"And if we let him go, he'll just tell them to keep chasing us anyway," the female pirate said impatiently from the back of the bunch.

"So _you_ vote we keep him as our guest too?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

"No!" she barked in response. "I say we do away with him! He hasn't called 'parlay,' he has no rights. I say we shoot him now and get it over with like we planned all along!"

Grasping the enemy captain's other arm, Ragetti glanced back at her, clearly considering this. But Pintel refused to back down.

"He's already ordered ''is men off," he pointed out quickly. "He can't give 'em any more orders when 'e's on _our_ ship, dead or alive."

"And why so keen on the second of the two?"

Pintel made an ugly grin. "A morale booster for the lads."

Curiously enough, Gibbs paused to consider this. Hebrough a hand to his chin in thought, and after a brief glance at the Naval captain and the _Prowess_, he turned somewhat doubtfully back to Pintel.

"…A morale booster, says you?"

The stocky fellow nodded. "Aye."

Gibbs frowned at this, but after a final glance around at his dismal situation, he dropped his gaze slightly and took a step back.

"Mister Murtogg," he called. "Mister Mullroy."

The pair obediently stepped forward, and their captain sent his new captive one more look. "Take our guest to the brig."

He would figure this out later.

Murtogg and Mullroy quickly relieved Pintel and Ragetti of their hold on the man and herded him off, but not before Mullroy glanced warily at Pintel. Ragetti noticed this and looked over at the bald pirate himself, half-expecting some telltale sign to appear on his weathered face.

By now, Gibbs had turned away from all of them and back to the rest of his crew.

"Alright, lads!" he shouted, standing as tall as he could manage. "Back to your stations!"

The rest of Pintel's adventurous band scattered at their captain's command. Barely hiding his victorious grin, the stout first mate began making his way over to a nearby set of rigging. As soon as he took his first step, though, he noticed an old cutlass lying on the _Pearl_'s deck off to his left. He paused, finding it strangely familiar, then carefully crouched down to pick it up. Sure enough, he recognized the faded black leather and tarnished silver on the hilt, and realized that it was Ragetti's sword. The crazy whelp must have dropped it before he'd even boarded the enemy's ship.

Pintel snapped his bald head up then, and seeing his scrawny nephew walking past him, he reached out and tugged at one of those bony arms.

"Oi!" he grunted disapprovingly, holding up the sword. "Wot's this? I find your best weapon lyin' 'ere on the deck wif you nowhere near it?"

Ragetti looked at his recovered blade awkwardly. "…Aye."

The other scoffed. "An' wot good'll it do yeh there? You can't be droppin' this thing left and right, lad! Some other sot ain't gonna 'old off on killin' yeh 'cause you ain't got a sword! You might as well 'ave yer 'ands in irons on top of that!"

The younger man nodded quietly. "Aye, Pinters…"

Pintel wrinkled his nose, still not pleased. "Learn to 'old onto it."

Ragetti looked up after this was said, then with a hint of snarkiness flashing in his eye, he nodded and reached for his scabbard—which he promptly drew Pintel's sword out of.

The older pirate's face went pale when he recognized his missing weapon, then with a sore scowl, he traded swords with Ragetti and stormed off.

Across the deck, still escorting their captive to the brig, Murtogg shook his head with amazement.

"Blimey!" he griped. "You desert the Navy just once, and they never let you forget it!"

His thoughts still on Pintel, Mullroy said nothing.

--

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Well, that's the end of the beginning battle! If anybody's still wondering why Gibbs is the captain, don't worry; the next chapter will explain everything!


	6. Pirates’ Lives for Us

(Disclaimer: not mine)

**Paradise of the Mind**

As trying and eventful as that afternoon's battle had been, Captain Gibbs and his crew hadn't been terribly surprised by it. Combat at sea, especially with the Royal Navy's recent expansion of their efforts, was all part of a pirate's day to day life. Battles were a tradition, and that night, the renegade sailors on board the _Black Pearl_ had chosen to celebrate their latest victory in a particularly traditional way.

Drunk.

Already having trouble focusing his eyes on the equally tipsy crew, Gibbs held up his overflowing rum mug.

"Here's to victory, lads!" he called out in a slur over the din that filled the ship's hold. "And the hope that one more'll always come!"

The rest of the pirates cheered "AYE!" in response—any reason to celebrate with rum again was worthy of their support. A few meters away from Gibbs, Pintel also held up his mug.

"Well 'ere's to the _Black Pearl_!" he shouted with considerably more enthusiasm. "The one true blue pirate ship that that fat-headed king and 'is whole bloody Navy _will never keep out of the Caribbean!_"

Just as they'd done for Gibbs, the other crewmen erupted with ayes of pride and approval. Over by the pleasure-dispensing keg, Marty took a generous swig of the brew and nearly fell off of his wobbly barrel of a seat; he'd always been proud of his small stature, and the fact that it got him drunk faster only made him happier. Beside him, Cotton lowered his own mug just in time to catch his parrot stealing a taste from it.

But before the celebration could continue, Gibbs held up his drink for one final toast.

"And here's to Jack Sparrow," he said with respectful cheer, "—that we'll find him on land or sea long before his vessel goes to pieces by her _own_ accord."

Impressively enough, this earned the greatest approval from the crew, who all responded with a final boisterous "AYE!" A moment later, they'd disposed of most of the rum in their mugs, and not knowing what else to talk about, began singing. It was a simple little song, one that they'd written themselves and grown familiar with throughout their five-year long search. Drinks still in hand, the Black Pearl's crew all joined in together for their popular little tune.

_Hoists the flag  
Hoists the sails  
Keeps his feet  
On the rails  
In a pick  
Never fails  
Finds a way and then prevails  
Never fights  
Clever sot  
Rather hatch a shifty plot  
That he'll make up on the spot  
Jack Sparrow  
Yo ho  
Where'd you go?  
Jack Sparrow…_

The song died down with its final words, and the drinking resumed with a few seconds of scattered conversation. Suddenly, Cotton's parrot, apparently still in the mood for music, sat up straight on the grizzled man's shoulder and squawked out its favorite line from the chantey.

"Awwwk! _Yo ho! Yo ho!_"

Gibbs quickly looked up at the bird, and a gleeful expression appeared on his face. Eyes bulging, he pointed excitedly at Cotton's pet then and immediately swallowed his rum to voice his great idea.

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_"

Pintel and the others lit up with equal enthusiasm for their elusive captain's favorite song, and before they could even refill their rum, they all proudly joined in with Gibbs.

_We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot!  
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!  
We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!  
Maraud and embezzle and even hi-jack!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!  
We pilfer and char and flame and ignite!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!  
We burn up the city, we're really a fright!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!  
We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!  
We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life or me!  
We're beggars and blighters and ne'er-do-well cads!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!  
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads!  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

There was a clash of metal mugs slamming together, and the room burst into laughter. The song was more than just a drinking chantey to these sailors—it was an anthem. A hymn of praise to pirates that was simple and true. Any man who'd ever earned so much as a copper penny from the harrowing trade should have been glad to sing this tune, and of the dozens of crewmen who were singing it tonight, Pintel was by far one of the most enthusiastic. He'd been a pirate for at least twenty-five years, maybe more, and he didn't show the slightest bit of regret for it as he teetered cheerfully about in his seat and yowled the song at the top of his lungs.

At the other end of the hold room, sitting calmly back against the wall, Ragetti watched the aging buccaneer in silence. A strange mix of amusement and concern flickered across his lean face, as his thoughts were torn between the crew's rowdy joy and that afternoon's events. Finally, after another second passed, he lowered his eye with a soft smile, stood up, and quietly slipped out of the room.

But just as his thin frame disappeared through the rotting doorway, Pintel glanced up and spotted Ragetti's bright red waistcloth fluttering briefly in the dim candlelight before it was gone. For a moment, the older fellow was puzzled; why wasn't Rags in the same festive spirit as the rest of them? He'd certainly seen the blunt end of that scuffle better than anyone else today—if anything, that lank should've been the wildest crewmember here! But just as he was searching his mind for a possible cause, Pintel suddenly recalled the last few lines of that great song, and an answer came to him.

His senseless delight now gone, the scruffy first mate rose unsteadily to his own feet and carefully followed after his stray companion.

------------------------------------------------

It was a good night for carving.

Ragetti was perched on the rail of the _Black Pearl_, letting his left leg dangle lazily over the silent black water below. He was stooped over, completely motionless except for his left arm as he swiftly scraped his newly sharpened knife across the top of a wooden block. A soft breeze rustled the sails above him, making the dark canvas stand out for an instant against the star-dotted sky. In that same instant, the sails almost looked tattered as they flapped about, and the iron bracing of the mast glittered hauntingly in the light of the moon—a full moon.

It was a perfect night for carving.

Ragetti knitted his brow as he watched himself work. It must've been sixteen years since this ship had first found the Isla de Muerta. Sixteen years since he, Pinters, and the rest of the _Pearl_'s unfortunate crew had fallen under that terrible Aztec curse. Sixteen years since he'd learned to be afraid of moonlight. The thought of it made Ragetti frown; he would never forget the nightmare that he'd endured the first time he'd seen himself as that rotted, fleshless monster—and he would never forget the captain who'd brought that nightmare on him.

Hector Barbossa.

Barbossa, who had led the mutiny against Captain Sparrow and brought them to that horrible island. It was the same Barbossa who'd been raised from the dead and called the nine Pirate Lords together at Shipwreck Cove. Then same Barbossa who'd given him his first wooden eye.

He hadn't seen that Barbossa in five years.

Ragetti would never forget that fateful mutiny, the second one that he'd taken part in. It'd all started when they'd left Tortuga, only days after Davy Jones had gone to his watery grave and the Turner lad had taken his place as the _Flying Dutchman_'s captain. Sparrow and Gibbs had left the ship, and Barbossa had left them behind as he'd sailed away with the _Pearl_ and its crew under his command once again. Unfortunately, those were the _only_ things that he'd had.

There had been charts as well; a set of maps that led the way to the legendary Fountain of Youth, which Barbossa'd had his eye set on finding. But it wasn't until they'd left Tortuga that the thieving captain'd discovered he no longer had those charts. Sparrow had stolen them back at the port, along with the last laugh.

Barbossa had nowhere to go after that—only out. It'd taken them hours to do it, but Ragetti and the other crewmen had eventually overpowered their unlucky captain and sent him and his filthy monkey adrift in a longboat. The good-for-nothing blighter could make his way to shore by the sweat of his _own_ brow, and the strength of his _own_ back.

After that, they'd brought the ship around and sailed back to Tortuga in search of Sparrow, under Pintel's orders. But when they'd arrived at the famous pirate haven, the only person to be found was Gibbs. Jack Sparrow was gone, off on another adventure to find immortality. Gibbs had been the only man in the whole lot who really knew Sparrow at all, let alone how the daft buccaneer would think and act, and so he had been elected—much to Pintel's disappointment—as the _Pearl_'s new captain. Ragetti felt no guilt in the matter though; he'd kept his promise to vote for Pinters, but more of the men had decided on Gibbs. Now the whiskered old storyteller showed his authority and contempt for Jack's enemy by wearing Barbossa's wide-brimmed hat, which had been left behind on the ship from the mutiny.

The smile returned to Ragetti's lips at that thought. There'd been a time when he was afraid of Barbossa, embarrassingly so, but if he were to come across that devil of a man tonight, he might just spit at his scraggly beard. Ragetti had stopped being afraid of Barbossa before the mutiny, right from the moment when he'd stood up and freed…_her_.

Her… The one being that he'd ever admired and feared more than anything else…and yet had seen so much of himself in…

"Rags?"

Ragetti suddenly looked up with a jolt. There was Pintel, rum mug in hand, standing cautiously across the deck by the steps. Apparently, Ragetti's exit hadn't been as secretive as he'd thought it'd been.

His thoughts shattered, the scrawny pirate lowered his eyes timidly and slowly fiddled with his tools. "'Ey Pinters…" he murmured.

For a while, Pintel didn't say anything else, opting to study Ragetti's fidgeting hands. He was always fidgeting like that, as if his hands always needed something to do. The bald man took a wary step forward, and when he could see that Rags wouldn't spook away, he quietly walked the rest of the way over to the rail to watch him closer. Pintel was far from a mind-reader, but there was something about the way that the lad slouched forward and twitched his bony fingers that somehow gave him a hint. Rags was thinking about a woman.

At last, Pintel spoke.

"You still fink about 'er, don't yeh?" he asked gently.

Ragetti looked up at him again, then quickly dropped his gaze once more and resumed his carving. "Well," he said as flatly as he could, "Calypso 'as a way of stayin' in your 'ead for a while."

Pintel's voice grew even quieter. "…I meant yer mother."

It was enough to make Ragetti freeze. His mother… She'd been the last thing on his mind at the moment, like he'd always tried to keep it, and this abrupt mention of her had caught him completely off guard. He paused to collect his thoughts on this fragile matter, and after a long silence, he gave an unsteady reply.

"…I wonder where she went sometimes." He seemed to perk up a little right then. "We _could _find her again. We found me dad, and we weren't even lookin' for him."

Pintel's face darkened a bit at the mention of Ragetti's father, and so he quickly hurried past it. "There's a pretty slim chance of that, Rags," he reminded the other dully.

There was another pause, and a dismissing look appeared on Ragetti's face then. "She prob'ly wouldn't 'ave either of us anyways," he concluded darkly, and continued carving. Just like that, he seemed perfectly alright again, amusing himself with how equal his right hand was to the length of the wooden block.

Even so, Pintel still sensed that something was wrong. Rags wouldn't just walk away from a rum social for no reason. "Oi, come on then." He nudged at his nephew's knee, sounding more casual. "Wot else is getting' at yeh?"

Cornered, Ragetti frowned and stopped carving again. "…You fell down today," he explained lifelessly. "When we was on that other ship. One of them red-suit fellows almost cut yeh down."

"Aye, but I cut him down first, didn't I?" the older man added with a sly arch of his eyebrow.

"And Mullroy said you almost put yer sword 'frough 'is 'ead when we was over there too," Rageeti added blandly.

"Well maybe I would've avoided it easier if 'e knew 'ow t'_move_ 'is bloody melon of a 'ead!" Pintel snapped back defensively.

"You didn't recognize 'im, didja'?"

Pintel scowled. "I recognized him fine! That's why I made a point to miss 'im."

But Ragetti wasn't shying away from the issue. "I don't fink you made a point to swipe at Cotton the other day when we was on the run from them privateers," he pointed out.

And just like that, Pintel forgot his delicate approach and was boiling again.

"Oi!" he blasted with a sharp pound on the rail. "I don't forget faces! I knew exactly who that empty-mouf'ed sot and 'is feather duster was!"

"Aye, but yeh didn't know 'e weren't on an enemy crew no more."

"Well I'm sorry if I can't keep me 'foughts straight when there's swords flyin' in me face all the time!" the bald first mate growled.

"But no one else 'as that problem," Ragetti insisted. He was resisting every instinct to skooch backwards right now. He couldn't back away from Pintel. He couldn't give him that feeling of dominance.

But at that moment, Pintel's temper faded slightly. "So wot yeh sayin'?"

The younger man's hands were clenched into anxious fists now. "…Well…you're getting' up there, Pinters. Not exactly as young as yeh used t'be. And fings start 'appenin' to a fellow when he gets like that…"

For several seconds, Pintel stared pointedly at him, and Ragetti thought for sure that those smoldering green eyes would burst into flames. But once the message sank in, Pinters immediately dropped his crabbiness…and began cackling hysterically. This time, Ragetti _did_ shift back a bit.

"So that's wot yer all up in arms about?!" the old man asked with a grin. "Ol' Pinters can't remember wot year it is?" He laughed so hard then that his tri-cornered hat fell off and onto the deck.

"The middle of a battle's a really bad time to get confused," Ragetti pressed on. "And I fink that's the only time when it 'appens to yeh. And…" He trailed off suddenly, afraid to say more.

Pintel wrinkled his grim brow expectantly. "…And _what_?"

There was nothing to do but blurt it out now. "And I don't fink either one of us wants to be dyin' right now, wot wif all the fings we've done to Cap'n Jack up to this point."

"Why's that?" the stockier fellow asked, leaning a little closer. Ragetti said nothing, becoming rather squeamish, and when he shrank back and looked awkwardly away, Pintel had an answer.

He was absolutely beaming with amusement, and gave Rags a rowdy slap to the knee.

"…'Cause we'd burn in _blazes_ for it?!" he finished.

"It's true," the other said dejectedly.

By now, Pintel was nearly doubled over with hilarity. "Why d'yeh look into that stuff, Rags?" he laughed. "Yeh know it's only good fer scarin' a chap out of 'is wits!"

"Well maybe them chaps is only scared of it 'cause they knows they has a _reason_ to be!" the lanky, long-haired pirate shot back.

"Of all yer silly dead-end obsessions, lad…" Pintel had to stop and cackle again. That silly, Bible-thumbing twit!

At this comment, Ragetti jutted out his pointy chin and skooched forward. "Oi, don't be frownin' on it!" he said bluntly, glaring straight at Pinters. "Y'know, Cap'n Black Bart Roberts, greatest pirate to ever sail these waters, 'eld weekly Sunday services on board 'is ship for the whole crew. _He_ didn't shirk 'is beliefs!"

Pintel just smirked. "He didn't drink, either."

Ragetti paled slightly at this. Seeing that his words had taken effect, the bald buccaneer continued. " …And by all accounts, _Blackbeard_ was the greatest pirate to ever sail these waters."

That _really_ ruffled Ragetti's feathers.

"_Blackbeard?_" he echoed with disgust. "Please! Fifteen-month career, 'e only took twenty-three ships for 'is own. Black _Bart_ took over four hundred in a three-year stand. That comes to roughly one hundred an' thirty-three ships a year, statistically makin' Black Bart the better pirate!"

Pintel scowled. "Stow statistics! _Blackbeard_ became a pirate by 'is own accord. He wasn't press-ganged into the business like some primpy-pansy merchant navigator! Bloody Black Bart only took all them ships 'cause 'e was too afraid of 'is pirate crew _not to!_"

"It don't matter why you does something as long as you does it," Ragetti answered with the tone of a bratty toddler. "And Black Bart did it better."

But Pintel wouldn't be convinced. "Black_beard_ did it better!" he blasted back.

"Black _Bart!_"

"Black_beard!_"

"Black _Bart!_"

"Black_beard!_"

"Bart!"

"Beard!"

"Bart!"

"Beard!"

"Bart!"

"Be—"

Pintel abruptly stopped, huffily giving up. It was plain enough to the old sea rat that this silly banter would go on until sun-up without a winner. It was impossible to talk any sense into that stubborn beanstalk of a whelp; he might as well be arguing with himself. The debate cut short, Pintel then reached down grudgingly to retrieve his fallen hat.

Ragetti was also a bit embarrassed when his senses came back to him. He jabbed half-heartedly at his wooden block for a moment, and once he saw Pintel stand up again with his hat in hand, he spoke up.

"…Well they bof' died 'bout the same way,' he said softly, driving his point home. "Right in the thick of battle."

By now, Pintel's fight was gone as he stared out at the dark horizon. "Ripped down by Navy bilgerats," he finished dully. He glanced over at his nephew then. "…Fightin's a big part of bein' a pirate, Rags."

The other lowered his head a bit. "It ain't the only part, though."

Somehow, this was enough to quell the conflict. His flame going out, Pintel sighed to himself and looked down at the deck "…So yeh want me to take it easy wif the sword and pistol?"

Ragetti shrugged "Just a little."

His uncle smirked a second time and looked directly at him.

"Look at that," he mused, teasing him slightly. "Little Rags is all grown up. Now _he's_ callin' the shots."

Again, Ragetti said nothing, preferring to stare gloomily down at his carving. Watching the dreary sight, Pintel frowned at his own sarcasm and looked away once more. Ragetti only wanted to help, and he hated to see the lad bothered like this.

Giving in at last, he nodded. "Aye," he said in a husky whisper. "I can slow it down a bit if yeh wants."

With that, he turned and leaned on the rail again.

Still perched beside him, Ragetti looked up at the older man and smiled faintly. He could see that Pinters had meant his words. There was another brief silence, then the thin pirate sparked back to life and leaned forward playfully.

"Pirates' lives for us, aye?" he asked.

Pintel managed a warmer smile and lifted his mug for another drink. "Yo ho ho…"

--

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Soon to be updated! And if you're curious what the tune to the Jack Sparrow song is, it's Jack's theme from DMC, at the beginning of Track 1 on the soundtrack. That melody was _asking_ for lyrics!)

(That's all true about Blackbeard and Black Bart, by the way.)


	7. Confrontations

(Disclaimer: don't own Pintel or Ragetti)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Her name was Charlotte.

Charlotte Berkley, one of the fiercest pirates to ever serve on the _Black Pearl_'s crew, and the first woman to sail under its infamous black sails in five years. Despite her impressive reputation, she was in fact one of the crew's newest members—Gibbs had only welcomed her aboard a year ago when she'd approached him at a port in New Providence.

And at the time, she'd introduced herself as _Charles_ Berkley.

A lifetime of dealing with sailors must have taught the lass a few things about their superstitions, because she hadn't so much as turned a head when she'd stepped onto the _Pearl_ in her thick leather boots and loose-fitting pants. She'd further concealed herself by wearing a long, orange overcoat and stuffing her hair underneath tri-corner hat; the grime on her face had also proven to be a useful disguise. Complete with a convincingly deep voice, Charlotte Berkley had played a lad that would have even made Mary Read look suspiciously feminine. And for three months, Captain Gibbs and the rest of the crew had known her as Charles—until Pintel accidentally walked in on her while she was relieving herself down in the ship's bilges one morning.

At first, the other pirates had been nothing short of horrified—all along, their good mate Charley had been a _wench!_ However, once the initial shock of this discovery had worn away, Gibbs had decided to let the clever girl stay; it was plain enough by then that she wasn't bad luck, and she fondly reminded him of a tough face named Anamaria. Seeing that their captain approved of her, the rest of the men soon came to more or less accept Charlotte as well. Today, her identity was only kept secret during battles as the ultimate surprise tactic, just as she had used it yesterday.

But now, the next morning, she had her brown hair down as a woman—much to Ragetti's dismay.

Feverishly scrubbing the deck on his hands and knees, the one-eyed man could already feel a knot twisting in his narrow gut. Charlotte was tending to the ratlines only a few footsteps away on his right, and his long hair hanging in his face was the only thing keeping him from gawking at her all the while. Charlotte was only a few years older than him, and Ragetti had decided long ago that she was definitely beautiful. She wasn't, however, what he would call _unapproachably_ beautiful; that was a rank he reserved solely for Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. Rather, this dark-haired woman was only _moderately_ beautiful, and that only made her _moderately_ frightening to talk to.

Somehow, Ragetti thought he could handle moderate.

Beside him, Charlotte gazed up at the ropes above her and frowned. An entire section of the ratlines had been all but hacked to shreds during yesterday's battle. Her only guess was that it'd gotten in the way of a stray cannonball, but there was no evidence she could see that would support that belief. Whatever the cause for the ruin, it was moments like this that made the pirate lass wince at her position as line master—she was responsible for repairing those ropes, and from the looks of the other crewmen, she'd be working alone.

Then again…

"Marty!" she called over her shoulder just then. As the small pirate turned to answer, Ragetti quickly looked down with extreme fascination at his swab rag. _Just act natural._

Marty stared up at Charlotte. "What?"

"Have we got any more rope on deck?"

The small-statured man lowered his eyes dismissingly back to his half-cleaned pistol. "Not that I be seein'," he answered flatly. "But you're welcome to go below and look for a length, _Miss Berkley_."

The name clearly hit a sour note with Charlotte, and her face suddenly darkened with warning. Standing with the poise of a python, she narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the frayed ropes.

"Or you could pull some weight and get it yourself, Mr. _Jacobs_," she said sharply.

Now Marty was the one looking indignant. He wrinkled his bald brow, obviously disgusted by this apparent cheap shot, then huffily stood up and trudged away in search of some rope. Ragetti watched him go, then cautiously glanced over at Charlotte again. It was just the two of them by the mast now.

Swallowing nervously, the lanky young man gazed down at the wet planks in front of him, then finally building up his nerve, he turned to offer a shaky hello. But when he looked up, Charlotte was gone.

An instant later, the vague confidence on Ragetti's face was also gone. Puzzled, he sat up on his haunches and glanced around in search of the woman who'd been beside him just a second ago. Where'd she go? Even Calypso couldn't disappear _that_ fast…

No sooner had he thought this than a dull thump was heard directly behind him. Surprised, Ragetti suddenly turned to see the end of a tattered rope lying on the deck. And then, just beyond it—

"Ahh!" he yelped in shock. It was Charlotte! She was standing right _behind_ him!

Ragetti impulsively jerked back, nearly knocking over his bucket of water in the process. Likewise, Charlotte jumped back a bit at the sight of his silly overreaction and eyeballed him questioningly. Trying to ignore the hammering in his bony chest, Ragetti met her stare with a single terrified eye. There was no turning back now.

"Oh! …Oh, sorry!" he stammered, glancing skittishly up and down from Charlotte to the rope and holding his hands up calmingly. "Sorry."

The woman wasn't sure how to react to this strange display. "For what?" she asked oddly.

Ragetti paused, then feverishly shook his head. "…N-nuffin'!"

Towering over him, Charlotte sent the man a final unamused look and turned back to resume her work. As soon as her back was to him, Ragetti made an animated cringe. What a greeting! It was almost as painful as it'd sounded! How could he let his guard down that badly? _Now_ she thought he was scared out of his wits of her! True, he was, but he'd had so much more confidence when she hadn't _known_ it!

Gawking at the shards of his rapidly failing attempt, Ragetti suddenly launched into another desperate effort and stood up, splashing his grimy bucket water as he did so.

"A-actually, I—" he began, but another glare from Charlotte stopped him dead.

Now she was getting impatient. "…You _what?_"

Ragetti stepped back awkwardly. "…I…"

Despite himself, he anxiously looked her up and down, then managed to finish his sentence. "…I…like rope."

Charlotte blinked. "…Well so do I," she said uncomfortably.

"Aye…" The twitchy pirate grinned and bobbed his head. At least they had something in common. "It's…useful."

Charlotte just stared up at him. This was starting to send creeps down her spine. Doing her best to hide her disturbed expression, she gave Ragetti a quick farewell nod, then quickly walked past him.

Staring into space now, Ragetti continued nodding stupidly. "It's very useful…"

Ignoring him—and perhaps trying to get further away from him—Charlotte abruptly grabbed a low rung on the rope ladder and hoisted herself up onto the _Pearl_'s rail. Unfortunately for her, this sudden move only snapped Ragetti out of his stupor and made him turn to watch her. The one-eyed whelp only hesitated for a second before he dashed after her again.

"You need help?" he asked a little too eagerly.

This, surpringly, brought a brighter light to Charlotte's eye. Caught off guard by this unexpected offer, she stopped and met Ragetti's eye just then. "_Help?_" she echoed. "With what?"

In less than a heartbeat, her mood had gone from scorning to welcoming. Ragetti was utterly thrilled to notice this.

"Well…th-the ropes," he said quickly, pointing back to the bit she'd pulled off with a trembling finger. "Yeh're fixin' 'em, ain't yeh?"

For a moment, Charlotte was caught in a conflict. Sure, she absolutely loathed the idea of fixing the ropes all by herself, but this bizarre exchange was starting to make her wonder just how desperate she really was for an extra hand. Taking in the sight of this long-haired beanstalk of a man, her debate soon reached a close.

"It's not that bad, really," she said quickly. With that, she looked up sharply and started climbing higher.

And before he knew it, Ragetti was panicking again.

"I wanna 'elp!" he piped, sounding nothing short of desperate. He instinctively jumped forward as he shouted, but froze when he realized his mistake. If anything, the move had been enough to make Charlotte stop, and now the woman's unamused eyes were locked onto him yet again.

_Just act natural! Just act natural!_

Hands fidgeting madly, Ragetti managed to swallow back the strangling lump in his throat and corrected himself as calmly as he could. "I…I mean, I…I _should_ help!" Then he held up his jittery hands in a sincere shrug. "I broke 'em after all, didn't I?"

It was the worst thing to say.

As soon as his words were out, the disinterested look vanished from Charlotte's face. Now, her beautiful brown eyes were smoldering with an anger that would have even made _Pintel_ look slightly cheerful. For a bone-chilling second, she glared hotly down at the cowering fellow, and then she spoke.

"_You _broke them?" she echoed. Ragetti could've sworn he saw smoke rising up from under her hat. When he failed to say anything else, she narrowed her burning eyes and leaned closer. "I didn't know that."

Ragetti instantly shrank back—it was the natural thing to do.

"Oh." But then, as a hopeful afterthought, he met her eye with a petrified grin and brightly added, "Well, now you do!"

--

It'd been almost fifteen hours since Pintel and the others had taken the captain of the  
_Prowess_ captive, but they had all gone to painstaking efforts to make that time feel even longer to the luckless man since then. Pirates may have been cruel, but they were also fair, and in this case, locking a Naval officer inside a filthy iron cage without a blink of light to see with was the fairest treatment they could think of—after all, the Navy had been doing the same to _them_ for nearly a century.

And just like any pirate, the imprisoned captain was less than thrilled to hear two of his captors making their way down the steps to the brig that same morning. Even so, his uninviting glare of a greeting didn't faze Gibbs and Pintel when they entered the room; it was only fair.

Sitting motionlessly on his cell's rotting wooden bench, the already skuzzy-looking captain shifted his eyes to study Gibbs alone.

"Nice hat," he said with flat sarcasm.

Beside Gibbs, Pintel smirked and snidely replied, "Nice _brig cell_."

Gibbs calmly adjusted the brim of his stolen hat and motioned to the other pirate. "My first mate 'ere," he said to their prisoner, "requested that I keep you on board as a captive. But I'll be needin' a bit more convincing from _you_ to hold to that."

"How so?" the Navy man asked dully.

The whiskered buccaneer couldn't help smiling faintly as he explained. "Well yeh see, a captain's job be to speak for the rest of 'is crew. Represent 'em, if you will. And from the looks of 'em, I'd say yeh best be learnin' to tread water in the next ten minutes."

Surprisingly, this had little impact on the prisoner. The middle-aged officer simply eyed Gibbs up and down for a moment, then sat up straighter.

"You're the captain?" he asked.

Gibbs bobbed his shoulders once in a silent laugh. "Tipped off by the fancy hat, were yeh?" he asked with his own sarcasm.

At that, the naval captain's tone suddenly turned casual and patronizing as he glanced around. "Well, I was expecting someone a little more _legendary_ to be piloting such an infamous vessel." He turned his attention back to Gibbs and Pintel. "This _is_ the _Black Pearl _now, isn't it?"

At first, both pirates only stared at him in silence. Noticing the snarkiness in the man's voice, Pintel squared his jaw and wrinkled his nose in repulsion. What did this pompous little muck rat have up his sleeve now?

After a few seconds, Gibbs traded a glance with his companion then broke the pause, however perplexed he sounded. "What's your name?" he demanded awkwardly.

"It's Captain Franklin Morgause," was the blunt reply.

That was when Pintel jumped in again. So disgusted did the first mate look as he stepped closer to the cell bars, practically shoving past his own captain in his anger. His blazing eyes were glaring straight through the prisoner when he came to a stop, just as they had when he'd first decided to kidnap the uniformed scoundrel.

"Well yeh looks an awful lot like yer name's _Charles Windrick_," he blasted, "_ADMIRAL_ _to the king's navy!!_"

The officer sat up suddenly, finally startled. Likewise, Gibbs stepped up to gaze at his first mate with the same look he would give a witchdoctor. "_Admiral?_" he echoed in disbelief. He turned to the mysterious captive then. "…You two _know_ each other?"

But the officer was staring straight at Pintel. "I don't believe I'm the person to ask," he said breathlessly.

Pintel couldn't stop himself. He'd been bottling in a grave secret ever since the battle had ended, and an infinitely graver one for the past twenty years of his sea-faring life. Now the moment of truth was dangling in front of him like a sizzling steak, and his infamous temper was more than happy to gulp down the bait.

Feeling Gibb's eyes on him, the bald first mate sneered and threw their guest, Windrick, a venomous glower. "I know 'im. Served under the bastard for a year as one of 'is new recruits." An uglier shadow appeared on his face just then. "An' so did my mate Ragetti."

Hearing this, Gibbs turned his attention back to Windrick, and sure enough, he saw a glint to realization flash in the officer's gray eyes. He and Pintel were now caught in a stare-down, as though they were drawing back on an old feud that neither one had claimed victory for. Their heated reunion lingered for a tense instant, until the kidnapped Navy man finally stood up from his bench. He was utterly seething.

"I lost everything because of you two. Everything! My position, my reputation…even my very place in _society!_ I was reduced to _nothing _because of you!"

Unmoved, Pintel arched his eyebrows in mock concern. "That a fact?"

"You think they'd reward an admiral who brings pirates onto his crew?" Windrick hissed back. His voice dropped to a cold whisper then, and he leaned closer to point a condemning finger at Robert Pintel through his cell bars. "I had to change my name when word of your disappearance went out. I had to go into hiding and lead the same wretched, filth-ridden life that your ilk boasts of for nearly eight years, and all because of you and that brainless boy…and your ludicrous 'live free or perish' philosophy!"

The only reaction that the speech earned from Pintel was another snide smirk; the old pirate was glad to hear he'd left a lasting impression. "Yeh can't expect a pirate to stay put when yeh beats 'im senseless every wakin' minute," he pointed out casually.

Inside the cell, Windrick smiled knowingly. "I can if I beat him hard enough."

It was all he had to say to gain the upper hand. Pintel stopped, and the smirk immediately drained from his leathery face. In its place, a look of shock appeared, and a hurricane of horrible memories flashed through his mind. Sounds of screaming and lashes cracking over flesh, feelings of guilt and dread as he'd looked away from those hideous scenes, the smell of fresh blood…

Pintel wouldn't have stopped himself even if he could. Before he could even comprehend the horrors whirling in his head, he bared his rotten teeth in a frightening growl and threw himself at the iron bars with a clank that made his returning enemy jerk back in surprise. That bastard! That lousy, no-good, bilge-licking _bastard!_

His mind was spiraling madly, beyond the slightest reasonable thought, and he would have probably tried to strangle the English scoundrel through his cell bars if Gibbs hadn't intervened right then. Hurrying forward, the pirate captain shouted disapprovingly and yanked his stocky first mate back by the shoulders. Even then, Pintel was still wild-eyed and struggling to unsheathe his cutlass.

"Get a hold of yerself, mate!" Gibbs scolded him sharply. "Save your strength for something worth usin' it on!" Slowing his struggles, Pintel blinked up at his whiskered comrade in bewilderment.

Observing the chaotic little scene, Windrick regained his arrogant posture. "I see the years haven't changed him one bit."

At that moment though, Gibbs switched his dissatisfaction over to the conceited fellow. "And _you_ save your remarks for someone who wants to hear 'em!"

Pleased with how authoritative he was beginning to sound, he then looked down at his gradually recovering friend. "What'll it be for 'im, Pintel? The plank or a good old fashioned maroonin'?" When Pintel failed to answer, Gibbs quickly added, "Or both?"

Just then, Windrick decided to make another remark. "It's a foolish resort either way. Killing me won't do you any good."

In turn, Gibbs decided that he was someone who wanted to hear those remarks. He loosened his restraining grip on Pintel and turned with distaste to the prisoner. "And how be that?"

Windrick smiled and stepped closer to the bars. He had the captain's attention now. "I notice you never asked how I came to know of this ship."

Gibbs shrugged warily. "You said the _Pearl_ was legendary." He hesitated then, curious. "…How _did_ you find out about her?"

Windrick's smile became even smugger. "My crew and I picked up a pirate not one week ago, sailing northeast from Jamaica. He was traveling alone in a dingy, and his colors were quite worthy of remembering. A white skull wearing a bandanna, looking to the east…and a red sparrow."

Gibbs and Pintel both froze. A white skull and a red sparrow. The same signature symbols that they had each sailed under for a year at least. The symbols of the very man that they'd spent the last five years direly searching for!

The _Pearl_'s whiskered old captain couldn't help but drop his jaw at this realization. "Jack Sparrow?" he asked Windrick, flabbergasted.

"_Captain_ Sparrow, as he preferred."

The mad light had left Pintel's face at that, and after sharing a dumfounded look with him, Gibbs hurried to regain his composure. "W-what did you do with him? Did he tell yeh anything?"

"Only about his beloved ship," Windrick answered smoothly. "He said that he hadn't seen it in five years. Apparently, something far more important was pointing him in a different direction." He leaned against his bars then to move on in his cool retelling. "We had Sparrow in our custody for three days. On the fourth morning, we found his cell empty with a bone sticking out of the lock, and a rather nasty chink in our rudder chain. We'd taken the liberty to confiscate his effects shortly after arresting him, and kept them stored in the hold; those were missing as well."

He stood up then and calmly paced in his cell. "However, there was one small item that he had failed to reclaim in his escape. An item that I had seen fit to carry myself." He stopped and looked at Gibbs and Pintel, driving his words home. "A compass."

When his two stunned listeners failed to give him a response, the officer casually reached into his muck-stained jacket and retrieved that very same item for them so see. That wooden black case, that polished onyx dome, that signature octagon shape… there wasn't a doubt in either onlooker's mind that it was the compass that the _Black Pearl_'s crew had come to know so well over countless voyages—Jack Sparrow's compass! The minute of awe lingered for both the captain and first mate, but it was Pintel to snapped out of the trance first.

"Wot're you tryin' t'pull on us?" he demanded hotly.

Windrick never hesitated. "A bargain." He held the device out tantalizingly. "Release me from your ship, and Sparrow's compass will be yours. Those are my only terms."

No sooner had he said this than Pintel stepped forward and drew his pistol. The stocky old sailor had made up his mind about the Navy man a long time ago, and the only bargain he cared to make was placing the compass in Gibbs's hand in exchange for a fat, round shot in Windrick's head. Seeming to hesitantly agree, Gibbs also came forward.

"They're pretty steep terms, at best," he commented reasonably. He sent Pintel's pistol a sheepish glance. "Even steeper, considering your bein' on a pirate ship and all."

But Windrick didn't falter. "So you would kill me for being out of my element?" He frowned haughtily. "Are you so sure you have no further need of me?"

Despite himself, Gibbs faltered at this. As pride-swollen as the officer was, he made a good argument. What use could a Naval officer behind their own lines be in the future? The husky pirate would need to plan ahead for a situation that would require Windrick's experience and skill. Plan ahead. That was what all good captains would do. Even Jack Sparrow planned ahead.

But even as the thought of his lost-lost comrade flashed in his mind, Gibbs was plagued by doubts. What right did he have to trust this man? He'd tried to sink their ship less than a day ago! Who knew what he was capable of doing when he was actually on board?

It was a heavy decision to make—the heaviest one that Captain Gibbs had ever been faced with in his unconfident reign—and just as he opened his mouth to speak, he gave in to the weight of it. Fumbling for a solution, he turned to his only resort: Pintel.

"What'll it be, Pintel?" he asked again, defeated.

It took a while for Pintel to answer him. The stocky sailor glared at his old enemy again, and as he took in the sight of that sleazy, big-wigged commander inside that grimy brig, a brilliant idea came to him. Windrick was already experiencing more of the pirate life than he'd ever cared to…but how much _more_ of it would he be able to handle?

Beaming nastily, Pintel finally answered Gibbs. "I says we make 'im part of the crew!"

Gibbs grinned just as widely at this decision and nodded at Windrick. "Aye! Part of the crew!"

A second later though, the meaning of these words suddenly dawned on him, and he whipped his head around to gawk at Pintel with bug-eyed horror. "The _crew?!_"

"Swabbin' decks, castin' lines," Pintel pointed out sadistically.

"And drinkin' rum?" Gibbs jumped in then. "It's no dafter than makin' him captain!" His voice dropped to a nervous whisper after that and he stepped further back from the cell with Pintel. "He's an enemy with a grudge taller than the mast. It's not wise t'be lettin' him loose on our grounds. What can be gained from it?"

Pintel grinned. "Payback! You an' I've bof' 'ad more'n our share of Navy life an' jumped ship from it! Now it's _his_ turn to live a _pirate's_ life!"

Gibbs wrinkled his face awkwardly. "…And what do we go about doin' if _he_ should jump _our_ ship?"

An even viler gleam appeared on his first mate's face. "He won't. 'Cause _we_ knows t'watch out for it."

Gibbs looked away for a moment, definitely considering this. After a quick look at Windrick, he turned back to Pintel.

"Part of the crew, says yeh?" He tilted his head up in thought, and immediately turned cheerful. "A moral booster to end all, says I."

The pair shared grins of wicked triumph, then calmly walked back up to the bars of Windrick's cell. Without a word, Pintel accepted the keys as Gibbs held them out, and deftly unlocked the door to the rusted cage. With that, he sharply yanked the door open and aimed his gun straight at Windrick, keeping him in line. Beside him, Gibbs held out an expectant hand, and after a scowling pause, their guest reluctantly handed over the coveted compass. Hooking the recovered tool onto his belt, Gibbs lifted his head to give the officer a much friendlier greeting.

"Welcome to the crew, former captain!"

--

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More to come soon. What does everyone think of this story so far? I've hardly got any reviews for it, and I'm just curious.

-KRRouse


	8. Better or Worse

Paradise of the Mind

(Disclaimer: don't own Pintel or Ragetti)

**Paradise of the Mind**

"So this Black Bart Roberts, 'e looted over four 'undred ships in three years, but 'e didn't really want to be a pirate that much…that and the fact that 'e weren't a fan of rum. And then this Blackbeard fellow. 'E liked bein' a pirate an' all, but 'e weren't as good at it as Black Bart. Who's t'say whether 'e were a better or worse pirate all together?"

Up in the ratlines, Charlotte was barely listening to Ragetti's question. "They were both pirates," she answered flatly. "What difference does it make who was better?"

Below her on the deck, holding the tattered ropes that she threw down as part of his punishment, Ragetti shrugged. "Well…it ain't so much who was better. It's sorta' more 'bout who was worse. Wouldn't yeh say a fellow what only takes twenty-three ships in little more'n a year is worse at piratin'?"

Another rope was flung down into his overflowing arms, making him stop short. "That depends on how you define better and worse," Charlotte replied brusquely.

The one-eyed man was confused by this. "What d'yeh means?"

Charlotte began tugging at another frayed rope, still refusing to look down at him. "Looting a ship's good for the pirates but bad for the ship's crew. They get robbed and attacked and either stranded or kidnapped if they're lucky. _You _tell _me_ whether they'd consider a 'good' pirate better or worse than a 'bad' one."

Ragetti lowered his head to stare blankly ahead. Good point. "Err…Guess I never 'fought of it that way."

Across the deck from them, Pintel squinted as he reemerged into the sunlight. He'd gotten his point across to Gibbs well enough, and he'd gotten his way in the matter with Windrick. It was because of this personal victory that he'd obeyed Gibbs's order to leave the brig and get back to work above deck. The _Pearl_'s captain wanted a moment alone with the _Prowess_'s former commander—to show him the swab brushes.

The first thing the balding pirate heard when he set foot on deck was a squawk, and looking up, he spotted the source. Just a few meters away, grasping a freshly-caught fish in its beak, an old gray pelican was perched on the quarterdeck's rail. Pintel blinked awkwardly at the bird, then his grisly sense of amusement suddenly caught up with him.

Squaring his jaw, the stocky sailor drew out his pistol, took aim, and fired into the empty air beside the pelican. The bird nearly toppled off of the rail at the sound of the shot, but it quickly spread its wings and took off, fish and all. On the deck, Pintel smirked with satisfaction as he watched the panicked sea buzzard disappear behind the ship's giant black sails. He always liked pelicans.

But just as he started to lower his head, another curious sight caught his eye. From where he stood, he could see Berkley—that breech-wearing little man-lass—perched on the ratlines by the main mast. The dark-haired woman was cutting and replacing strands of rope from the torn loops, and from what he could see, she was more or less talking to somebody below her as she threw down all the ruined pieces. Following her glances downwards, Pintel slowly lowered his eyes until he spotted her audience.

It was Ragetti.

If Charlotte looked less than interested in their conversation, Rags made up for it. The scrawny pirate was listening intently to her, his back slouched all the while, and whenever he spoke, his hands would fidget wildly. This was only accented by the slight shaking of his bony knees.

Pintel watched the strange scene for a moment, and then it dawned on him. For as long as he'd known Ragetti, the skinny whelp had been terrified of women; Poppet and that old fish-wife hadn't been the first ones to see him cower like this. The Berkley lass was also no exception, but throughout all of those years, Pintel couldn't recall a single time when his bony mate had held a real conversation with a woman, at least not willingly. But now here he was, looking petrified as always, _talking_ to one. And there was something else in his bulging blue eye besides fright.

All Pintel could do was laugh—loudly. That silly twit! Of all the wenches they'd ever come across, Rags had his fancies set on the biggest she-devil of them all! Only a bloody _halfwit_ could think this was going to end well!

The bald first mate continued cackling as he turned and made his way to the quarterdeck steps. That crazy little sot wasn't going to hear the end of _this_ one!

Back by the mast, Ragetti was oblivious to everything but Charlotte.

"That's the problem with piracy," she went on distastefully. "Nobody agrees on anything. Some people say it's a _crime_, an excuse for people to steal and murder, and then others say it's an _honest living_ or _freedom_. And it's usually the pirates who say that."

She'd said her last comment with a lot more bitterness than the others. Ragetti hadn't missed this.

A final strand of rope came sailing down at him, and then Charlotte made her own descent to the deck. As she did, the thin man looked at her strangely. Now he was _really_ surprised, but even more confused.

"Wait…I don't get it," he said just then.

Charlotte glanced up at him as she wiped the flecks of rope fiber off of her blade. "Don't get what?"

Ragetti was struggling to look at her instead of his feet. "Well, it…it almost sounds like yeh don't likes pirates all that much. But yeh likes _bein'_ one."

He met her gaze expectantly then, but got no response. Charlottle seemed content to just stare at him now. The man went on uneasily.

"Well, I means…yeh _sorta'_ likes bein' a pirate. 'Cause, yeh're always runnin' into fings b'fore everyone else, and then yesterday when you 'it that fellow in 'is man spot for stealin' your hat…That looked like fun." He paused to think. "Looked kind of painful, actually, but it looked like _you_ were havin' fun…err…"

Even Cotton couldn't have made a more awkward silence. Charlotte continued to glare at Ragetti, taking in his words, and after a minute, an insulted look flashed across her face. Wrinkling her nose, the woman jammed her knife back into its sheath with disgust and stormed off—roughly shoving the lanky man out of her way in the process

Ragetti squeaked a bit at the sudden jolt and watched her unexpected retreat in a daze. What did he say? He hadn't meant any offense! His words were more of a _compliment_ than anything else, really!

He had to think fast. Before he could even think of what to say, Ragetti, dropped his load of rope and anxiously moved to follow Charlotte.

"No wait!" he called after her. "I didn't—"

But before he could take another step, a new bundle of rope was shoved against his gut, jerking his to a stop. Ragetti teetered forward sharply, but as soon as he'd regained his balance, he gazed down at his latest disruption.

Marty barely regarded him back.

"Here, Casanova," the little man grunted.

Then he let go of the coils and continued on his way, leaving a speechless Ragetti behind with Charlotte's rope clutched in his hands.

It was an hour before midnight when Pintel finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs below deck. The _Black Pearl_ had dropped its anchors for the night, and the stocky first mate had been fast asleep in the crew's quarters when he'd heard the wooden steps creaking over his head. Grunting drowsily, the bald man quickly snapped back to attention at the sound and opened his eyes. A second later, the creaking stopped and Ragetti's narrow silhouette came skulking into view.

Pintel grinned. Just the fellow he'd been waiting for.

"Didn't turn out like yeh'd hoped, eh lad?" he asked.

Ragetti jumped and spun around. So much for being alone down here.

He stared at Pintel for a moment, blinking dumbly. "…What?"

"Don't gimme that," the older pirate said, sitting up in his hammock. "The Berkley lass. The _man-lass!_" He turned sideways to smirk up at his nephew. "Guess she ain't in the market right now, eh?"

The other pulled his gaze away, deeply embarrassed. "…I don't know what yeh means," he replied quickly, then hurried past Pintel towards his own hammock posts.

This only made his uncle grin wider. "Oh no? So that were a _real_ man wot you was tryin' t'reel in then?"

"Oi, I were just talkin' to 'er!" Ragetti snapped just then, coming clean. He turned and sent Pintel an annoyed glare. "Tryin' t'get to know 'er, yeh knows?"

"Oh, I'll _bet_ you was," the bald man said slyly, leaning back. "Always lookin' fer free ones, aye Rags?"

This actually earned a disgusted look from Ragetti. "…_No!_ I just wanted to talk wif 'er!"

Pintel only pressed on. He was enjoying this too much not to. "Wot about?"

Ragetti stammered for a few seconds, still trying to recover from Pintel's abrupt appearance. "I…it don't matter! And what do _you_ cares about it anyway?"

The snarkiness never left his uncle's voice. "Yeh're getting' awful defensive there, lad."

"Pintel!"

"No, I mean it! You two already havin' problems this early in the relationship?"

Ragetti looked sick and hurt all at once. He just wanted to be left alone…

"Just shut it," he managed to say. He turned away from Pintel and knelt down to unroll his own hammock.

It still wasn't enough to make the other pirate stop. "Come on, Rags," he said realistically. "Did you really 'fink yeh 'ad a chance wif 'er? Blazes, a monf' ago she 'ad us all 'finkin' she were a _chap!_"

"It was still worf' a try," Ragetti rasped. He couldn't look at Pinters right now—not when his throat was tightening up like this.

Pintel laughed a little to himself and laid back down. "Well, sumfin' tells me she ain't in this fer no high seas romance, leastways not wif a bloody talkin' _mop!_"

Ragetti absently reached up to touch his long blonde hair. He said nothing for a minute, then finally swallowed hard and stood up to hang his opened hammock.

"Go to sleep, Pinters," he murmured. The young man had already been miserable enough about his failure before he'd come down here, but now he was far too upset to even go back up on deck. Who _else _had seen him making a fool of himself in front of Charlotte? The thought was enough to make him want to hide in this room for a _month_.

"I just 'ope yeh wasn't talkin' too loud at the time," Pintel went on wryly. "Wouldn't want Calypso t'get jealous now, would yeh?"

"Good night, Pinters."

"I wonder 'ow that old fish-wife'd take a surprise like this?"

"_Good night_, Pinters," Ragetti grumbled once more, and Pintel brought his taunting to a smug end. His nephew sighed angrily, then tying the last knot, he climbed into his readied hammock and curled into the tightest ball that he possibly could.

So much for _moderately_ frightening.

--

--

Sorry for the long delay. College workloads take up a lot more time than those twenty-minute assignments that I used to get in high school. Good old days!

Anyway, the next chapter will be up ASAP.


	9. The Uncarvable Tree

Paradise of the Mind

(Disclaimer: I don't own Pintel or Ragetti)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Afternoon was the best time of day for a pirate at sea. Mornings were spent setting a course and adjusting the rigging and sails from the previous day, and evenings—though plentiful with rum of course—brought darkness, which forced the crewman to be twice as alert for enemy ships. Afternoons, however, were usually a lazy time of day, and Ragetti's favorite way of passing those midday hours was by carving wood.

The young man sat hunched in the shade by the captain's cabin doors as he whittled away at his newest block. Even after ten years of sporting a wooden eyeball, this simple hobby had never appealed to him; he'd only taken it up after Barbossa had forced him to hand over his old prosthetic. It wasn't until he'd finished carving his new eye that Ragetti'd taken a liking to the activity, and he'd churned out dozens of other wooden trinkets since then. Most of those pieces, for lack of a better storage place, currently resided in Captain Gibbs's cabin as decorations.

A distant shout from Pintel interrupted Ragetti's thoughts just then, but the young pirate sullenly resumed his carving when he saw that the call was for somebody else. All Pinters ever did these days was scream at people—that was probably why his nephew had so much time alone to work on his carvings.

Ragetti would've liked to say that his innocent obsession had been sparked solely by the events with the Brethren Court, but truth be told, he had a much longer history with it than that. One of his former captains, a haggard fellow named Edmund Brackens, had also fancied the activity.

The thought of Brackens made Ragetti's stomach twist slightly; wood carving wasn't the only memory he had of that grisly old buccaneer.

Captain Brackens—or "Edmund the Red," as he was more infamously known—had been the commander of a ship called the _Spanish Doubloon_. This was the exact same ship that Ragetti, a ten-year-old who'd only lost his eye the day before, had been hauled on board with Pintel and ordered to sail under, all at the price of that mysterious ruby medallion. Brackens had been fair to offer the two of them a place on his crew instead of death for the ruby, but that half-hearted kindness never masked the fact that he was a raving madman.

As Ragetti continued carving his block, the memories took over.

His most vivid recollection was one of the oldest, just three days after the _Doubloon_ had picked them up. The ship had been docked at Hispaniola, and as an ever-curious child, he'd noticed something rather peculiar about the vessel from his place on the docks.

The scene was all coming back to him now. The salty smell of the air, the stench of pistol smoke and rum, the slight afternoon breeze, the sound of lapping waves below him…and that fascinating word written on the ship's stern.

--

The boy couldn't stop staring. There were ten letters—at least he thought it was ten—above those rear windows of the captain's cabin, all written onto the dark wood in gold paint. He'd never been taught how to read, and had certainly never seen the need for it back on Tortuga, but for some reason, he wanted to know what this word was. After all, it was written on Captain Brackens's ship, and if the ship was as important as Pinters and the other crewmen made it out to be, then this word must have been important too.

Ragetti squinted even harder up at the letters. Maybe he'd figure it out if he stared long enough. It was worth a try.

After a few minutes of this, the child's silly dilemma caught another pirate's eye, and his older observer came walking over to him, lugging a barrel of gunpowder all the while. Grunting, Pintel heavily sat his load down on the dock and looked up to see what had Rags so entranced.

"That's the ship's old name," he said flatly to the boy. He glanced over at the _Doubloon_'s loading ramp, grimacing at how much further he had left to carry his barrel.

Ragetti turned and gawked up at the man then. "What's it say?"

Pintel immediately snapped his head down to stare at the boy, and a hesitant look appeared on his grimy face. "…It ain't important." With that, he quickly bent down to pick up his wooden burden again.

But Ragetti was far too inquisitive to drop the matter at this point. "Why ain't it?"

"Because it ain't," was all his companion said in response.

It was a disappointing answer, but the one-eyed lad accepted it; at least now he knew that the word wasn't as important as the ship. Even so, he still found it intriguing.

Ragetti cocked his head to the side like a curious pup. "Does it 'ave ten letters?" he asked innocently.

Beside him, Pintel reluctantly stood up to study the word himself. "Aye, it does."

Ragetti gazed up at him again. "How many words got ten letters in 'em?" he asked, as if he was hoping to guess the word himself.

Pintel sighed and looked around warily. Rags may not have been a stubborn kid, but he was certainly dumb enough to seem that way. Finally, the older pirate met his younger mate's eye and reluctantly gave him his answer.

"It says 'Foundation,' alright?"

Having said this, Pintel then snatched up his powder barrel and began marching towards the pirate vessel.

Unfortunately, cracking under the pressure like this only sparked his scrawny pupil's interest more. "What's 'at mean?" Rags asked, fiddling with his bony fingers. "Pinters?"

Pintel almost dropped the barrel as he spun around. "_Would you_—" he started hotly, but his temper somehow stayed in check. He didn't want to draw any attention.

"I don't knows!" the balding man snapped then, "but that's the ship's old name!" He started moving on from Ragetti a second time.

Still amazed, the boy gazed up at those ten golden letters. "Foundation," he echoed brightly. Whatever it meant, he definitely liked the sound of it. As soon as he came to this conclusion though, another burning question suddenly rose in his head. Which letters _were_ these? He looked over at the back of Pintel's grumbling head as the pirate trudged along.

"Oi, Pinters!" he yelped ahead to his friend. "'Ow do yeh spells it?"

Somehow, Pintel wasn't too worried about drawing attention anymore.

The stocky buccaneer whirled around, revealing his beet-red face, and finally let his temper in on the conversation.

"_F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N!_" he blasted, even as Ragetti shrank back and dropped his head. "_Foundation! Ten letters!_ Now stow it, you bleedin' li'l—"

"Well what be this?"

Pintel froze instantly at the sound of the voice, and his crimson face suddenly switched to chalk white. Hearing the abrupt silence, Ragetti lifted his head to see who had spoken. As soon as he did, however, he lowered it again with almost as much terror as his comrade. Pintel couldn't have picked a worse person to draw over.

Amused by their cowering, Captain Brackens continued. "Takin' a fancy to me ship's 'istory, is we?" The captain absently toyed with the carving knife in his hand.

Pintel was clutching his barrel like a protective barrier now, and he instinctively jabbed an accusing finger towards Ragetti. "He _started_ it!"

"And you saw fit to _finish_ it!" Brackens added almost cheerfully. His words shut Pintel up once again, and seeing that it did, the captain turned his attention to Ragetti.

Brackens smirked grimly. "So yeh likes t'look at letters, does yeh, lad?" He stepped closer, . "Find 'em fancy? _Eh?_"

Ragetti could only stare at the disturbed man with a bulging eye and nod dumbly.

Edmund the Red regarded this calmly. "That so?" Then he raised a grubby, ring-covered hand to his head. "Well 'ow's about this one?"

Before either Ragetti or Pintel could give a response, the captain whipped off his bi-cornered hat and faded orange bandanna. The sight that greeted Ragetti next earned a startled squeak from the lad, and he darted over to Pintel to cling to his friend's sleeve. Right in the middle of the captain's forehead, burning blistery white against his tan, weathered skin, was a branding scar.

Brackens sent him a disgusting grin and pointed to the ugly mark. "This be the letter P. Know what it stands for?"

Ragetti nervously shook his head.

"_Pirate_," the captain replied. "A chap from the East India Company took 'old of me ship an' crew three years ago an' gave me this keepsake when 'e threw us in the brig. He branded me fore'ead, so I broke out an' stole 'is ship."

He paused to put his bandanna and hat back on, concealing the scar once more. "Had an awful surprised look in 'is face right before I shot a 'ole through it," he went on in an eerily pleasant tone. "Don't know why. After all…" He gestured towards his hidden blemish "…'E already knew I were a pirate."

His story now over, the captain then pointed the end of his knife towards his bobbing vessel. "That ship be called the _Spanish Doubloon_ now, lad," he said flatly. "You just pretend that company's name ain't written on 'er, or I might just finish that little job there—" He bent down and motioned to Ragetti's new eye-patch with that grim carving blade. "—So's yeh _really_ can't see it."

He grinned disgustingly for the last time, then stood up and coolly walked away. As he did, the captain calmly drew a crude wooden figure from his coat pocket and began whittling away at it. The moment Brackens was out of earshot, Pintel traded a petrified look with his young friend, and gave their ship a final, awkward acknowledgement.

"The _Spanish Doubloon_," he croaked. "…That's all wot's important."

--

Even after twenty-six years, the thought of Edmund Brackens made Ragetti cringe. He and Pinters had always been afraid of that crazed fellow. Still, they'd both felt a pang of remorse when he'd met his gruesome end six years after that day.

The wood under Ragetti's blade gave way just then, and his knife hand jerked down to slam into the deck planks. He winced at the painful connection, then groaned when he saw how much of his block had just been chipped away. The only thing left of the part he'd been working on now was a splintery corner; he guessed that was going to be the back end of the figure instead.

The one-eyed pirate wasn't positive—having just chopped the block off the top of a dock post last week—but he had a feeling that he was working with palm wood. Ragetti'd worked with plenty of different woods over the years, and in his experience, there was nothing flimsier to work with than one of those lousy coconut trees.

He'd heard of something called ironwood once. It came from tall, dark trees that only grew on the mainland north of here, and was so strong and heavy that it wouldn't even float in water. He'd also heard that ironwood was impossible to carve, that it only cracked and dented saw blades and knives.

For some reason, this intrigued Ragetti. It was like a challenge, calling him and every other amateur carpenter forward to just _try_ and cut it. Another part of him somehow admired ironwood; it was stubborn and defiant, like it refused to be altered and made into any lesser object. After everything he'd been through, Ragetti rather liked the idea that there were some things mankind hadn't learned how to destroy yet.

Above him on the quarterdeck, Gibbs was standing at the wheel. The _Pearl_'s captain had his eyes locked on the horizon ahead of the ship, and only broke his fixed gaze every few minutes to glance down at the compass in his hand. So far, the arrow on the magic device had remained pointed in the same direction: straight ahead, and hopefully towards its rightful owner.

Gibbs couldn't believe it for some reason. He'd always looked calm about it, but truth be told, there was always a part of him that felt odd commanding Jack Sparrow's ship. It was like he didn't belong in the position—he wasn't _legendary_ enough, as Windrick had said—and the fact that he was now holding Jack's compass as well made his situation feel nothing short of bizarre.

The scruffy sailor gazed out at the lapping sea again, then eyed the compass one more time. The arrow still wasn't faltering—that was _one_ thing he could do better than Jack at least.

It wasn't long before his awkwardness caught Windrick's attention. The former commander was down on the main deck, grudgingly scrubbing away at the wooden planks with as he crouched on all fours. Even from this distance, he could see the awkwardness on Gibbs's scraggly face as that pirate's eyes shifted to and from the compass. The stout fellow obviously knew how the device worked, but as far as Windrick could tell, Gibbs wasn't half as keen on how to _make_ it work. The blue-clad captive set his rag aside and stood up. Now was his chance.

He turned and politely made his way up the steps towards Gibbs.

"A word, Captain," he said calmly, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Gibbs sent him an impulsive frown, but quickly hid his displeasure. "Aye, what is it?" he asked bluntly.

Windrick didn't look the least bit uncomfortable in the captain's presence. "I'm starting to notice dark clouds ahead. It's possible that a storm is approaching."

The old buccaneer squinted into the distance from under his hat brim. Sure enough, he could just make out a few gray wisps in the sky beyond them, swirling with the vast whiteness. Their newest passenger wasn't lying; this was a storm alright, but nearly a lifetime at sea had taught Gibbs more than a thing or two about the weather.

The captain nodded, unfazed. "Aye, I'll wager that be a storm, Mr. Windrick."

Despite this confirmation, the study fellow made no effort to turn the ship's wheel. Seeing this, the other man stared at him questioningly. "Are we not to change course?" he asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "Nay," he replied in his salty voice. "It's no more'n an afternoon shower. Nothin' this ship 'asn't seen before." At that, he snapped the compass shut and shoved it confidently into one of his vest pockets. "And nothin' she can't handle."

Windrick hid his frown, then nodded and turned to leave. Before he took a step though, he glanced back at the captain's stuffed pocket with a gleam in his silver eyes. "Having trouble with your compass, Sir?" he asked harmlessly.

Gibbs only looked down at the forgotten tool for a second, then forced a quick laugh. "Heh! Far from it. We got us a headin,' and now we be sailin' towards it."

"And precisely _what_ are we sailing towards?"

The pirate faltered, though only for an instant. Windrick saw this, and coolly observed it as Gibbs swiftly regained himself. Thinking his hesitation had gone unnoticed, the captain eagerly answered.

"Whatever's straight ahead, of course."

The Navy man's next words were spoken with far more poise. "A shower or not," he began, "there is a storm coming. And unless you know exactly what is straight ahead of us, I'd advise turning north towards land. There are islands nearby where we can wait out the night."

This was yet another subject that Gibbs knew infinitely more about. "Aye, true enough, they're land," he said with a less than patient nod, "but there's not a port on any one of 'em—and half of 'em I wouldn't sail near even if there was."

Windrick was too determined to back down now. "If it's the tides that concern you, we can easily drop anchor offshore."

Suddenly, the witty light flickered out of Gibbs's eye. Beaching the ship was hardly his biggest concern in the matter, but he saw no reason to explain his worries to the likes of this fellow. Comfortable or not with the title, he _was_ the captain of the _Black Pearl_, and he wasn't about to let a prisoner with a grudge overstep his boundaries. He looked directly at Windrick just then, sending the slightly younger man a warning expression.

"We can drop anchor in the middle of the bloody _sea_ if we want to." A sharpness had crept into Gibbs's tone. He dropped his voice slightly—almost threateningly—and leaned closer to the other man as he continued.

"Yeh're not an admiral _or_ a captain, Mr. Windrick. Least ways not on _this _ship." He shook his head, as if he was secretly disappointed in the sailor. "Sorry t'be sayin' it, but I think I sees why my first mate hasn't warmed up to you quite yet."

They were crippling words, hardly characteristic of Gibbs, but Windrick's fair hide was thicker than it looked.

"You know it's foolish to sail headlong into unfamiliar waters," the clean-shaven man retorted, his voice a soft growl. "Think of what you want to do. Your friend's compass will decide the rest."

Gibbs was staring straight at the horizon again. "It already has," he shot back flatly, ending their dispute.

Seeing that he was being ignored now, Windrick sent the pirate captain a parting glower, then sullenly descended to his swab bucket on the main deck.

As soon as he saw his opponent resume his work, Gibbs shifted his attention over to his first mate.

"Pintel?" he called out, still staring ahead with widening eyes.

Behind him, the bald pirate stopped cleaning his pistol and looked up. "Aye, Cap'n?"

Gibbs's face twitched slightly. "…Rum."

His first mate eagerly set to the task, dropping his weapon and staggering down the quarterdeck steps. Ragetti watched as his old friend stumbled past, but said nothing. Pinters was too busy to chat right now, and the heated scene that'd been playing out over his head had his one eye riveted to the planks jutting out above him. Ragetti hadn't seen any of the conversation between Gibbs and Windrick, but he'd heard every word, and couldn't help but admire his captain.

He guessed Gibbs was a lot like ironwood.

--

Soon to be updated…


	10. Approaching Storm

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

_BOOM!!_

_CRASH!!_

The thunderclap earned a petrified yelp from Mullroy, making him clunk his head directly into Murtogg's. The pair was sitting back-to-back on the iron deck grate at the _Black Pearl_'s bow, drearily taking in the growing storm around them as they served on watch duty. The two men had known each other ever since their first days in the Navy, and throughout all those years—despite Mullroy's attempts to look like a refined know-it-all—Murtogg knew that his friend was even more of a jittery wreck than himself.

Grunting loudly at the collision to the back of his head, the younger ex-soldier glanced over his shoulder at his bug-eyed friend. "Will you stop that?" he asked, sounding more in pain than irritated. "It's just a bit of thunder."

"A _bit of_ thunder means there's _a bit_ of lighting nearby," Mullroy shot back matter-of-factly. "And with us sittin' 'ere soaked to the bones as we are, we're liable to get _a bit_ illuminated and end up _a bit_ well-done. There's plenty of reason to be scared of it."

"But thunder doesn't come until _after_ the lightning," Murtogg pointed out unsurely, "So…there's really nothin' to be scared of after you hear it."

"_Oh!_" the other said in the high-pitched, condescending tone that'd won him countless squabbles in the past. He was practically turned all the way around to face his friend now. "And hearing thunder after a strike of lightning in a storm like this _couldn't possibly_ mean that _another_ unforeseen strike of lightning could be close behind, and _will_ illuminate us and make us a bit well-done. Is that what you're saying?"

Unwilling to answer this, Murtogg frowned and turned his head to stare forward again. "…Well there's plenty of things worse than thunder to be afraid of," he said lamely.

Mullroy sent him a sideward, demeaning look. "Like what?"

Murtogg paused, then offered, "Whale droppings?"

The two exchanged an awkward stare, then impulsively smacked their foreheads together at the next clap of thunder.

Back at the ship's wheel, Gibbs squinted through the downpour, convinced that he saw a tiny shape in the distance.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Below deck, Pintel was wrestling with his own demons.

The old pirate sighed and slumped back against one of the wooden hammock posts, slowly sinking to the floor. He was exhausted for some reason, and wasn't about to go through the hassle of setting up his hammock like Cotton and another snoring crewman had each done at the far end of the room. For now, he was content with leaning against the support beam like this—even if he _could_ feel a forest of splinters stand up every time he moved his shoulders and could smell the business end of a canon right next to him.

Pintel shifted slightly for a comfortable position, then reached up to push back his hat and absently rub his eyes. He'd been down here for a while now; no doubt, the sun was starting to set outside, and the heavy sound of raindrops drumming against the deck was only further incentive to stay where he was.

The bald fellow moved on to rubbing his temple for a moment, but then abruptly froze. A second later, Pintel snapped open his yellowed eyes and glared over at his hand. He remained this way for just a little longer, then slowly brought his hand over to study it directly. To his discovery, it was shaking. It wasn't extreme—in fact, it was barely noticeable—but Pintel could still see that tiny tremor of movement that he wasn't quite able to control.

The pirate arched one shaggy eyebrow, half curious. The thing was usually steady as a rock.

Another thought came to him just then, a recollection of his days of piracy before the Navy, and Pintel found himself in a different place and time. He was still on a ship, but it was smaller and slower than the _Black Pearl_. What was it called again? The captain's name was Brackens; he knew _that_ at least. For some reason though, the ship's name was hazy in his mind.

He was standing at the helm of Brackens's vessel, clutching the rigging in front of him with his steady hands and squinting into the morning wind that blasted his face. There was another pirate there with him that day—a boy. The lad couldn't have been older than twelve, and he looked like a blonde-haired mongrel in an eye patch as he leaned over the bow's rail to yap and holler excitedly at the pod of dolphins skimming through the water far below them. Pintel, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less about those overgrown fish. His attention was focused on clinging to that bloody rope as tight as possible, so the wind wouldn't knock him flat on his ass.

Leaning against his hammock post, the aging sea rat smirked faintly to himself. This was a pirate's life.

Pintel would have dwelled on this longer, but at that moment, Ragetti arrived onto the scene. The scrawny young man came trudging into the room with a guarded look on his rain-soaked face, and it was just visible in the dim light that he was clutching something in one hand. Eyeing his uncle on the floor, Ragetti stiffly reached out and set the mystery object on a salvaged plank table that hung beside the canon.

Hearing the sound, Pintel suddenly snapped out of his trance and glanced over at it. "Wot's 'at?" he asked oddly.

Ragetti was barely even looking at him. "Yer pistol."

The older man blinked, perplexed, then reached down to feel at his holster. Sure enough, it was empty. Why the blazes wasn't his pistol in there?

"…Where'd yeh find that?" he asked.

"Up on deck," Ragetti answered flatly. He paused then, warily sending his uncle a sideways stare. "Yeh left it there when yeh came down t'get rum for Cap'n Gibbs."

That _really_ earned a reaction from Pintel.

The bald first mate's eyes suddenly grew huge as this dawned on him, and he sparked right back to life with a shout and staggered wildly to his feet. How could he have bloody forgotten that? He'd been down here for _three hours!_

"Where—where d'we keeps the stuff?" he demanded, looking around so frantically that his hat nearly flew off. "S'ere any down in the 'old? Or maybe in the cap'n's cabin?!"

"'E don't want it no more," was Ragetti's dull reply. Pintel let out an aggravated growl at this, then suddenly vented his anger the first way he could think to: by kicking the canon. Unfortunately, this only earned him a stubbed toe, and the stocky buccaneer found himself doubled over in pain an instant later.

Ignoring the humor of this pathetic display, Ragetti stepped back lifelessly to sit himself on another one of the iron weapons. "That were the whole reason yeh came down 'ere, Pinters," he pointed out. The slight reproach in his voice was hard to miss—apparently, the long-haired lank was still nursing some wounds from the nasty taunting that Pintel'd given him last night. "Yeh went runnin' off t'get one li'l fing, and you forgot it."

The older man scowled up at him, struggling to ignore the throbbing in his foot. "So wot if I did?"

Ragetti let his comeback die in his throat and sullenly looked away again. He'd already been through this stubborn argument once before; there was no sense repeating it.

Pintel would have hotly pressed on with the confrontation, but before he could spit another word out, the sound of anxious footfalls on the steps abruptly cut him off. A moment later, a thoroughly drenched Murtogg and Mullroy came stumbling below deck, sloshing water all over the place as they did so.

"Oi, Ragetti!" Murtogg shouted to his two companions. "Pintel! Captain wants all hands on deck!"

"_All hands on deck!_" Mullroy howled behind him just then. Hearing his booming order, Cotton woke with a start, prompting a surprised squawk of "Every foot in the storm!" from his nearby parrot. The other sleeping crewman, a frizzy-haired sailor named Friskin, tumbled right out of his hammock with a loud _thud!_

The two wet messengers looked to Pintel and Ragetti again and gestured for them to hurry. It was clear from the expressions on Murtogg and Mullroy's faces that the pair had just witnessed something frightful above deck, but their backs were turned and scurrying back up the steps before anything more could be thought of it. Still standing by his empty hammock posts, Pintel quickly stood up straight and exchanged a last dismal look with Ragetti. The bickering could wait for now.

Then keeping his hand as steady as possible, the first mate reached over and snatched up his recovered pistol.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Gibbs barely acknowledged Pintel as he heard the other pirate approach. The captain's full attention was locked ahead, over the _Black Pearl_'s starboard rail, and there wasn't a single force left in nature that could distract him from what he saw.

As soon as he'd pushed through the other crowding crewmen—including a rather intrigued-looking Windrick—and climbed onto the quarterdeck, Pintel suddenly felt the same way. The bald first mate instantly froze, struck dumb by the sight. Twelve ship lengths away on the southern horizon, shrouded by the heavy rainfall, was an approaching vessel.

It was another Navy vessel.

Sensing the other's bafflement, Gibbs gave a disgusted explanation.

"They've been followin' us fer near an hour. Lousy rotters even brought 'er the long way 'round so to cut us off here."

"Blimey!" Pintel blasted, oblivious to Gibbs's report. "S'ere nuffin' but Navy ships left in the Caribbean?!"

Whatever bitter expression was left on Gibbs's face faded away right then, replaced by a weary one. "Looks that way."

The fleet vessel was drawing closer now. It was obviously much larger than the _Prowess_, as its outward-bulging sides and massive sails showed, and this notion brought some hope to the pirate captain—_this_ ship could be outrun and outmaneuvered at least. From his place at the wheel, Gibbs could just make out faint gold letters painted along the side of the enemy ship: _Navigator_.

Surrounded by crewmembers on the main deck, Ragetti, Murtogg, and Mullroy each observed the scene with knotted stomachs. The youngest of the three, Joseph Murtogg anxiously pulled his gaze away from the nearing ship and over to his one-eyed comrade.

"Think we could we pass off as a merchant ship?" he asked in a small voice. He and Mullroy were hardly pushovers in battle anymore, but that had never quelled their desire to avoid a conflict when it was possible. That desire was all that kept most pirates alive.

Beside him, Ragetti could do nothing but stare. Even Charlotte was uncharacteristically reserved a few meters off to their right.

The suspenseful approach continued for another minute, then all of a sudden, a blonde man in a tri-cornered hat and blue overcoat stepped up to the _Navigator_'s helm. He was a lieutenant, and even from this distance, his eyes seemed to be locked dead on Gibbs and Pintel.

"Pirates!" he addressed them sharply, leaning over the rail. "You are sailing in protected waters belonging to His Majesty the king, and you are under arrest! State your name and destination!"

Gibbs arched his weathered brow and shared a crooked glance with Pintel. Neither one of them looked remotely impressed.

"Don't quite know what yeh mean, Lieutenant," the _Pearl_'s captain called reasonably across the water. "We're naught but a ship of 'onest sailors makin' our rounds."

The lieutenant, however, was unfazed by this lie; he'd heard it too many times before to believe it anymore. Still, he had enough wit to play along with it for now. "Then why are your colors not flying, _Captain?_"

"It be mighty hard to fly colors when you've got none."

"It's also difficult to fly your colors when they are unauthorized ones," the _Navigator_'s commander pressed on tersely. By now, the ships were close enough for him to see Gibbs's beard through the rain. "_State your name and destination_."

Even after this stern questioning, Gibbs refused to show the officer a cornered expression. The whiskered sailor had been a pirate for as long as he was willing to remember, and he'd seen more than his fair share of these pompous redcoats. To him, they were nothing but well-dressed usurpers—the _real_ pirates—and they'd only gotten worse since that sea goddess had been freed from her bones. The years of running away were finally catching up to him, and to say the least, Gibbs was fed up with it.

"My name and destination hardly matter, seein's how you've already got a mind to arrest us," he pointed out with mock politeness. He was using every scrap of effort he had to not laugh at the officer right then and there. "Seems you've got all the information yeh needs, Lieutenant."

Pintel reinforced the comment with a cheeky smirk. _Now_ the captain had that bilge bag up against a wall!

But just then, another member of the _Black Pearl_'s crew decided to speak up.

"His name is Captain Henry Billings and our destination is the Bahamas! We're privateers!"

Every set of eyes on the scene turned towards the source of the call, and seeing it, Pintel and Ragetti donned identical scowls. It was Windrick.

From the _Navigator_'s rail, the lieutenant studied the pirates' captive skeptically. "Privateers?" he echoed. "Under who?"

Windrick never even hesitated. "The East India Trading Company, of course! We've flown their colors for nearly two years. Unfortunately, they were torn free in a windstorm one fortnight ago and carried away. We haven't been able to find a replacement since then!"

Gibbs wrinkled his nose at the former officer, somehow lacking gratitude. That conniving little loose cannon! What was he trying to hatch now?

The lieutenant's offensive glare softened slightly, and he regarded Windrick with the same sadistic boredom that a cat might show to a mouse struggling in a trap. "I see. And I suppose you're the agent overseeing the dealings on board this ship?"

Windrick stood up a little straighter at that. "Of course."

His interrogator absently brushed at his ship's rail. "What's your name, sailor?" he asked calmly.

Murtogg and Mullroy began to look hopeful now. Naval officer or not, Windrick was a master liar—the _Black Pearl_ just might make it out of this mess scratch-free! But Ragetti didn't share their optimism. This lieutenant seemed too confident about something.

Oblivious to the trio, Windrick answered the question. "Franklin Morgause."

"And tell me, Mister Morgause," the lieutenant sail coolly, staring straight at him. "How does an agent of the East India Company such as yourself…come to own a _Naval_ uniform?"

That was all it took. The _Navigator_'s commander had just played a card that no one on the _Black Pearl_ had ever thought he could, and in his surprise, Windrick did the worst thing possible: he paused.

His discoverer didn't even give a confirming nod at this falter; now he really did have all the information he needed. The lieutenant had known all along that he was dealing with a pirate crew, and this sly imposter on the black-sailed ship's main deck was the most despicable one of them all. The thought of the poor officer whose uniform this criminal now wore sent a chill up his spine. Lingering on this notion, the commander coldly turned to the rest of his crew.

"Proceed, soldiers."

Back on the Pearl, Ragetti felt a knot twist in his throat and glanced up at Pintel with dread. The older pirate looked just as dismayed, confirming his fears.

This was going to be bad.

--

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(Woo-hoo! Another update! And I wrote most of this chapter from a beach condo in North Carolina while I was on vacation!)

Just hang in there, folks. Something major's about to happen in the next chapter or two!


	11. A Temporary Position

(Sorry it took so long to update, folks. I really wanted to finish another fanfic that was two years old, and then I got a severe case of writer's block for this chapter. Hopefully the worst of it's over now!)

**Paradise of the Mind**

The lieutenant didn't give so much as a farewell glance to the crew he'd just sentenced. Nearly a lifetime of hunting pirates had convinced him that his work would never be done, and so the hardened soldier had come to see the seafaring rats as precisely that: rats. A man could travel the entire world exterminating every one of those filthy rodents in sight until he grew old, but his sole dying reward would be to see thousands more of them crawl out of hiding and repopulate the seas again. Piracy was a plague; it could only be kept in check.

As soon as he gave the order, another officer stepped forward. "Cannons ready! Aim!"

Gibbs and Pintel watched with dread. There was no time to do anything else.

"_Fire!_"

The command was answered with a flash of light and a harsh _BOOM!_ that rocked the _Navigator_. A second later, the fist-sized cannonball exploded into the _Black Pearl_'s port side, and before any of the pirates could respond, the deck tilted sharply under their feet. Ragetti teetered wildly in an attempt to stay upright. Beside him, Murtogg and Mullroy latched onto the rail for support. A handful of crewmen behind them, including Windrick, could only topple against the mast.

Gibbs and Pintel were also thrown off balance on the quarterdeck; the bald first mate was sent stumbling backwards across the slippery incline while the captain struggled to hold the steering wheel steady as he tripped. The _Pearl_ became still a moment later, and as soon as he regained a stable footing, Gibbs whipped his scruffy head around to glare at his crew.

"Get to yer stations, men!" he blasted.

"You 'eard 'im!" Pintel added hotly. "Set to it!"

Marty and Cotton were the first ones in action. Sopping wet or not, there were already a few cannons stationed up on the main deck, and the pair scrambled for the nearest one as they tugged pouches of fairly dry powder and rags from their belts. Charlotte and three others set to work nearby and hurried to adjust the ship's rigging. Even Windrick made himself useful by gathering up an armful of cannonballs. He was as deep in trouble as the rest of the renegades on this vessel now—joining ranks with them was his only hope left.

Ragetti, Murtogg, and Mullroy decided to follow Marty and Cotton's lead. Unlike their comrades though, the trio made a dash for the stairs below deck. They cold barely see a meter ahead of themselves in this merciless downpour, and it would be vastly easier to load and light the dry cannons inside the ship. Besides, after serving nearly three hours of watch duty out in the storm, the two younger pirates were tired of being drenched and miserable on top of afraid. The anxious pair rocketed down those steps like a couple of rabbits.

Ragetti was halfway down after them when something dawned on him and stopped him in his tracks. Pinters was still up there with Gibbs.

_BOOM!_

_CRASH!_

Another enemy cannonball came tearing through the side of the _Pearl_ just then, taking out the lantern directly above Murtogg and Mullroy. The two impulsively yelped and ducked, but the only thing left to shield themselves from was the shattered glass on the floor. Murtogg's eyes were practically bulging out of his head when he looked up again. Maybe this wasn't such a good spot after all.

"Ragetti!" he shouted to his indecisive friend. "Come on!"

The taller pirate hesitated as he glanced from the bottom of the stairs to the top. A river of rainwater was cascading down the steps now, along with several other frantic crewmates who suddenly shoved past him on their way to the lower level. These men were all thinking the same thing: better to take cover down here with the cannons than be an easy target for those soldiers out in the open.

From where he stood, Ragetti could see across the ship's main deck as well. The crewmen he noticed up there seemed more intent on running amuck than doing their jobs. Marty and Cotton had lost their lighting torch and were feverishly searching for it on their hands and knees, and Charlotte's three helpers had taken refuge behind the mast as they tried to load their pistols. Cotton's friend Friskin was in the process of shoving Windrick's cannonballs into a cannon without any gunpowder. Everybody on board had been caught completely off guard by the _Navigator_—himself included—and now they were all in an utter panic.

Ragetti paused for another second as he gazed over at Pintel, who was loudly relaying Gibbs's orders to the crew while the captain continued steering. The lanky sailor wasn't sure what, but some bitter instinct in the pit of his stomach told him that this wasn't going to end well. After a final moment of debate, the one-eyed pirate turned to answer Murtogg.

"Stay down 'ere, mates! I'll be right back!"

Then he took off back up the stairs, ignoring his friends' stupefied expressions.

At the ship's wheel, Gibbs was getting frustrated. "Tell 'em to trim the sails!" he grunted as splinters dug into his palms.

"_The sails're slowin' us down, lads!_" Pintel bellowed gruffly to anyone who bothered to hear him. "_Haul yer boons up the mast and trim 'em tight!_"

"And man the yards!" Gibbs added.

"_And man the yards!_"

_BOOM!_ Another enemy cannon suddenly fired, hitting the water just shy of the _Black Pearl_ and spewing sea foam onto the deck. Startled crewmen screamed and easily lost their footing on the wet planks beneath them.

"Stay on it!" Gibbs shouted himself at the chaotic scene. He grimaced and glanced up at his first mate then. "Are we ready t'fire yet?"

Pintel glared back at him like the commander was even crazier than himself. "_Ready?_ It's 'ardly been five minutes! And it's bloody _rainin'_ on top of it!"

Gibbs cursed under his breath and stared down at his feet, anxiously thinking. His petrified crew had no cannons ready at all, courtesy of time and the elements, and they were up against a ship that probably had every weapon on board loaded and set. The _Black Pearl_ may as well have had a target painted on her side! He had to do something to stall for time…

At last, an idea came to him. "We'll just 'ave t'outmaneuver 'em then!" Before Pintel could inquire, Gibbs yanked the wheel a full ninety degrees towards the _Navigator_, sharply tilting the deck again. In less than two minutes, the opposing vessels were perpendicular.

Now Pintel _knew_ the captain was even crazier than him. "_Wot're you DOIN'?_" he screeched as he spun around. "They'll blast us 'frough_ end to end_ like this, you_ daft sot!_"

Gibbs ignored the insult; he was too short on time. "They'll 'ave to adjust their aim first." He stepped away from his podium and hurried for the staircase on his left. "Take the wheel."

Pintel had never looked so flabbergasted. "…Wot—b-but—yeh can't—" he sputtered, but the captain was already charging towards the rest of his men on the main deck. The bald pirate growled with frustration as his senses returned, then he resentfully took hold of the device.

That was when Ragetti showed up. The blonde-haired lad had been knocked to his knees by Gibbs's brash stunt, and he came barreling up to the quarterdeck on all fours in his haste. His uncle probably would've resurrected an old dog wisecrack if he hadn't been fuming so much right then.

"Pinters!" Ragetti shouted over the noisy downpour. "We's gotta get b'low deck!"

"I'm _kinda busy_ right now, Rags!" the other man roared back with disdain.

The younger fellow blinked then, puzzled. "What're yeh doin' steerin' the ship?"

"Who the blazes knows?!" was Pintel's only response.

…………………

The lieutenant hadn't seen this tactic before.

That pirate captain had turned his ship to face theirs; he'd arrogantly swung his crippled vessel completely port and formed a perfect wooden "T" over the chopping waves. Now every soldier on the _Navigator _was locked in a staring contest with the _Black Pearl_'s figurehead twenty meters away, and none of them were about to blink.

As foolhardy as the move was, the Naval officer could see the logic behind it: with the pirate ship facing them long ways like this, their target was three quarters narrower. What was more, the _Navigator_ was still moving forward, and it would be too far ahead of its adversary to even fire in a few minutes.

The man sniffed distastefully and turned to his aiding officer. Their late captain's fatal mistake had been to look at his foes too generally, to think that the best way of eliminating a buccaneer crew was to simply kill as many as possible. He'd underestimated the last band of thieves, but his successor, the lieutenant, knew better. The pirates on this black-sailed vessel were strategists, and so they would have to be dealt with in a more strategic way.

"Tell them to load the grapeshots," he ordered coolly. The other soldier nodded and repeated the command down to their gunners on the firing deck.

The lieutenant continued to stare ahead, watching for movement at the _Black Pearl_'s bow.

The rats would be kept in check today.

…………………

Gibbs didn't have time to dwell on the risk he was taking. The other ship's gunners would need a few minutes to hone in on the _Pearl_ again, and the sooner he could get his crew in order, the sooner they could get out of this position.

The buccaneer captain squinted forward. His wide-brimmed hat shielded him plenty from the downpour, but everything beyond that was a virtual curtain of rain. Even so, he could just make out the shapes of his followers, and so he kept sloshing towards them across the flooding deck.

And then he drew his pistol.

BANG!

It was almost like magic. At the sound of the shot, every person on deck screamed and nearly fell flat on their faces. This hardly brought peace to the chaos, but Charlotte, Windrick, and a few others stopped and looked up. There was Gibbs, standing ankle-deep in the water with his gun pointed straight up in the air.

"Stop yer cowerin the whole lotta yeh, or I'll throw yeh to the rotters myself!" the captain hollered as threateningly as he could over the storm. He continued when he sensed they could hear him. "Listen to me! We all 'andled these kinda' lads not two days ago, and we've 'andled 'em a hundred time b'fore that! _This isn't any different!_"

Pintel quickly snapped out of his daze when he remembered he was steering the vessel—a slightly more important duty. Besides, he'd heard Gibbs give orders plenty of times in lousier weather than this. Deciding there was nothing to see here but a few shot nerves, the aging first mate glanced down to steady the wheel.

Ragetti's eyes, however, were glued ahead of him, past the captain. He could see the _Navigator_'s hazy outline even from all the way back here, and the longer he stared at the enemy's ship, the more he started to notice something: they weren't firing anymore.

"…'Ey, Pinters?" he murmured. The older pirate ignored him. "Pinters."

_Why wasn't the other ship firing anymore?_

Meanwhile, Gibbs was still trying to get his crew straightened out. "Now we've gotta load the cannons! You men move every gun to the port rail! We'll swing up alongside 'em soon as we're ready! _Get the lead out!_"

He was belting out orders at the top of his ragged voice, but from the looks of things, he may as well have been yelling in Chinese. Of the dozens of men surrounding him, only a pitiful handful seemed to be remotely obeying as they wheeled the empty iron weapons into position. The rest were still too disoriented to do anything but scuttle about aimlessly. It was Gibbs's worst nightmare come true.

They weren't listening to him. Almost every one of his crewmen was ignoring him, and after trying everything from pure gusto to blatant threats, the commander realized that there was nothing he could do to change that. He had no more control over these inexperienced mice.

Would Jack have had better luck with them?

The whiskered sailor shoved the question away as soon as he thought it, welcoming another wild rush of adrenaline. He had to stay focused on his task even if this miserable weather tried washed them all right overboard. He was the bloody captain! Damn it to blazes that this wasn't his ship—_he was the captain!_

"_Set to it! Set to it, men! Roll out the powder barrels and lay into 'em!_"

It was like an epiphany. He was the captain! He gave the orders! The simple facts were enough to spark the vigor inside Gibbs again. They were gonna get out of this. As long as he had a voice to command them with, he was going to make sure they got out of this.

But as the hopeful sailor turned to gaze at his recovering fellows, he failed to recognize the danger in their situation. Their enemy's firing had ceased; he knew that much at least. They weren't sending over anymore of their smoking cannonballs to the _Pearl_.

What he didn't know was that they were preparing something much worse.

Ragetti was the only to see the peril coming. Straining his single eye to see across that waterfall of a seascape, he watched the _Navigator_ with savage concentration. Two minutes. It'd been two minutes since the last cannon blast. Two pulse-poundingly long minutes that had his knobby knees clacking together like castanets underneath him. Something was going to happen. _Something very bad was going to happen…_

And then it did.

BOOM!

Out of the watery shroud came a burst of ugly orange light. A flash! Ragetti's face went pale at the sight of it, and he arched forward, clutching the rail in front of him. The Navy ship had fired again!

And his captain couldn't see the shot coming.

"_GIBBS!_"

That was when Pintel looked up.

_SMASH!_

Ragetti was too late. In one ghastly instant, a metal canister came ripping through the _Pearl_'s bow rail and into the deck at a twenty-degree angle. The surprise weapon burst open on impact, and as soon as its metal shell was ruptured, a hail of shrapnel exploded in all directions. Pirates were cursing and ducking all around the wicked thing, but the last of its momentum carried the bulk of those jagged shards forward…

It was over in a heartbeat. Gibbs took the flying shards to his left side and was thrown clear off his feet. Then he went right through his cabin doors.

BASH!

Pintel didn't even think. As soon as he heard that bone-tingling crash, he shrieked and took off, not caring at all if an equally stunned Ragetti would take over the wheel for him or not. Across the quarterdeck, down the steps, to the right through the floodwaters and into the cabin—the panicked first mate was oblivious to everything else around him as he rushed to his captain.

"_No no!_" he cried hoarsely between gasps. "_No no no!_" The horror in his eyes alone could have scared those soldiers away.

And then Pintel found what he was looking for.

The pirate could feel his heart stop as he entered that cabin. Everything was hauntingly quiet in there, almost silenced by the terrible sight, and the choking stench of blood burned in his nostrils as a grisly accent to it all. Joshamee Gibbs was sprawled across the splinter-covered floor just in front of Pintel, almost hidden under a coat of the sticky red debris. He was motionless on his back, and his dark eyes were staring blankly up at the ceiling above him.

But he was still alive.

Pintel's dread gave way to a flutter of frenzied hope when he saw the other man's chest rise and fall. Gibbs was still breathing! That _had_ to count for something!

"Gibbs!" He flung himself down for a closer look, desperately grabbing hold of one of those blood-soaked sleeves. "Gibbs! Over 'ere, mate!"

He was trying to keep his throat from tightening up as he called. Gibbs was still alive, not dead! The old chum had already survived the worst of this mess; he _couldn't _die now!

Behind Pintel, Ragetti also stumbled down the steps and nervously peered inside the cabin just then. Unlike his uncle though, the younger fellow chose to stay outside in the rain, wisely keeping his distance. He fidgeted with his hands for a minute, helplessly pondering what to do, then silently reached up and removed his red bandanna. Ragetti'd been afraid all along that something like this would happen, and now that his fears had been confirmed, there was nothing left to do but admit to it. Keeping his distance just helped numb the sting.

But Pintel, feverishly shaking Gibbs's arm, refused to admit anything.

"Look at me!" he coughed. "Bloody look this way!"

At last, Gibbs twitched his head and blinked, clearing some of the glazed expression from his eyes. Then he spoke.

"It…it was just…s'posed t'be a…temporary position…"

Pintel froze and gazed at his comrade's weathered face. Gibbs had murmured the cryptic words as if he'd been in a trance. It only took the first mate a second to decipher the message, but before he could offer a reassuring thought, he glanced down at the captain's chest. It had stopped moving.

Confusion and denial gripped Pintel's features. Gibbs wasn't breathing. He wasn't alive. But…but he'd survived the hit! He'd been thrown right through a door and had just spoken a moment ago! He _had_ to still be alive!

"…Captain?" the bald pirate whispered. He shook Gibbs again. "Captain!" When he still got no response, Pintel grabbed both of the wounded man's arms and rattled him for all he was worth. "GIBBS!"

Ragetti winced at the painful sight and looked away. A part of him wanted to run back up those steps and away from this mess—he was used to seeing Pintel angry, but seeing him grief-stricken like this was something new. Something much worse.

Despite his fear, Ragetti was too dejected to move, and so he lifted his head to watch the rest of the crew. To his surprise, several of them were looking back at him, including Charlotte. Even through the rain, he could see the realization dawning over their soaked faces, the mix of shock, gloom, and pity. They knew they were leaderless now.

Inside the cabin, Pintel was still wrestling with the truth. Gibbs was dead. His friend had been ripped down in the thick of battle by Navy bilgerats. Forget that he was the captain, Gibbs was his _friend!_ And those slimy, red-coated bastards had murdered him!

Pintel's entire body was convulsing; his flaming temper was building up again. Not since his lousy sister Rebecca had double-crossed him so many years ago for a few coins had he been seized by such an overwhelming emotion, that feeling that he had one less person left to trust. The only difference this time was that Gibbs hadn't betrayed him, but had been taken from him by the most treacherous ilk that roamed the sea. Pintel was utterly fuming as he met his fallen comrade's lifeless eyes for the last time, then he looked up and out through that splintery doorway. The first crewman he saw staring back at him was Windrick.

Then he knew nothing but rage.

"_LOAD THE CANNONS!_"

That was when Ragetti did move. The sound of Pintel's volcanic bellow nearly knocked him right off his feet, and every other member of the crew above and below deck jumped back at the same time. Pintel looked like the devil incarnate when he came barging out into the open.

He was going to end this right now.

"_SLACK THE WINDWARD BRACES! MOVE THE GUNS INTO POSITION! AND MAN THE WHEEL!_"

For once, Ragetti didn't hesitate. Pintel had startked him in the worst possible way, and the instant the lanky youth heard that last order, he knew it was directed at him. Without so much as a parting glance at his disturbed companion, Ragetti spun around and bolted back up the quarterdeck.

And the rest of the _Black Pearl_'s crew, seeing the demonic light blazing in Pintel's eyes, also set to work.

Their biggest threat wasn't aboard the _Navigator_ anymore.

--

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Soon to be updated…


	12. Avenging the Captain

(Disclaimer: I own nothing.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Mullroy's eyes were riveted to the ceiling. "What's going on up there?"

The other gunners could only join him in staring. The antsy bunch had heard another cannon blast a few minutes ago, but unlike the previous ones—which had only prompted more screaming—_this _one had brought all the commotion above deck to a complete stop. The following silence had been eerie but short-lived, and right now it sounded like some crazed demon was screaming bloody murder outside to compensate.

"Maybe the other ship's backing off," Murtogg offered.

As if on cue, the puzzled crewmen heard footsteps behind them, and sixteen heads whipped around to see Windrick almost plummeting down the steps towards them. The former captain barely even looked at their dazed faces as he pointed at their half-loaded weapons.

"Finish prepping the cannons!" he ordered breathlessly. "We haven't got much time!"

But the pirates wanted their questions answered first. "What's 'appened up on deck to put da lads in dis spook?" a dreadlocked man named Torange asked warily.

At this, Windrick suddenly found a moment to pause and somberly catch his breath. "…The _Navigator_ fired a grapeshot at us." He put his hands on his hips and glanced down. "Your captain is dead."

The blunt report clearly struck a chord with its audience.

Murtogg blinked, dumbfounded. "…Dead?" he echoed. Part of him actually wondered if this was just another lie that Windrick had thrown together to motivate them. Captain Gibbs couldn't _really_ be dead, could he?

"Tha's rubbish!" another gunner spat defensively off to his left.

"It's the truth," Windrick corrected him flatly. "I'm sorry." He lifted his head to gaze at the whole group then, showing them the simple honesty on his face. "Finish prepping the cannons."

There was a pause as the loss sank in. Murtogg and Mullroy traded dreary looks and stared down at the iron gun between them. They could see that half of their work was already finished, but something else was started to egg them on just then. Sure, they'd known from the beginning that losing this battle would mean the end for the whole crew—a fact that'd scared them into action plenty—but now that their captain was gone, the pair had a new driving force: anger.

They wanted to get back at those men who'd killed Captain Gibbs, and they didn't care if they died trying.

All around them, the other gunners felt the same way. Torange glanced down at the loading baton that he'd dropped on the floor a moment ago, then seized it. Beside him, a younger sailor with straight black hair stood up and propped open the porthole in front of his cannon. A third man started cracking into another powder barrel.

Murtogg and Mullroy met each other's smoldering eyes again and nodded. Then without another word, they dove for the end of their cannon's barrel to finish their work.

…………………

The lieutenant only needed one look at the situation to figure out his next move. The other ship was starting to get out of range as the _Navigator_ moved forward, and his men wouldn't be able to hit their target at all in a minute. Fortunately, the grapeshot seemed to have worked; there was no way the pirates' captain could've avoided such a direct hit to the main deck, and this strategic blow would surely leave his followers in a hopeless mess. With that threat out of the way, the only thing left to do was sink the useless sea craft.

"Bring her hard to starboard!"

The other soldiers were quick to comply, and the _Navigator_'s sails slumped on one side as they shifted away from the wind. In seconds, the lieutenant could feel the ship starting to turn. His plan was to line up alongside the pirates' vessel again, and even though they'd be passing each other in opposite directions, they'd be parallel long enough for his crew to fire the final shots.

On the other side of the watery battlefield, Pintel could see this plot unfolding.

"_They're comin' back around!_" the bald first mate bellowed. "_Get ready t'fire!_"

He wasn't even thinking of the other pirates while he screeched his orders. Pintel's temper had completely taken control of him, and the only thing he knew in that fiery mindset was that the louder he shouted a command, the sooner it was obeyed. So far, this simple logic seemed to be working, and that made the aging buccaneer welcome it all the more in place of his grief.

"_Steady at the wheel!_" he blasted as the _Pearl_'s bow started drifting to the left. "_Keep the ship on course!_"

Ragetti snapped his head up and stared at his uncle through the rain. The ship wasn't steady? How could it be moving? He was practically twisted in a _knot_ around the wheel to hold it still!

"…Pintel?"

"_STAY ON IT!_"

The scrawney sailor jumped at this and cowered back. He was already shaken up enough about Gibbs, but the thought of being stuck in this position at such a horrible time was making him a wreck. Why did _he_ have to take the wheel? He'd never steered a ship before in his life!

Ragetti wrestled with his predicament for another minute before finally making a guess. The storm was probably throwing the ship off course, and the only way he could think to fix that was by turning the wheel in the opposite direction. Looking to the _Navigator_ as a reference, the one-eyed pirate cringed and cut a sharp right.

It was too sharp.

The deck immediately slanted to one side, sending several loose pieces of equipment tumbling towards the starboard rail. Pintel and a handful of other crewmen almost went the same route before they found something stationary to hold onto. Even Ragetti's feet nearly flew out from under him on the slippery wooden surface. The _Black Pearl_ was out of control!

Pintel cursed and threw his makeshift helmsman a venomous glare. The incident could have been humorous in another context, but the first mate was far too blinded by rage to recognize this. In his mind, he was being held back from his goal, and that scrawny sack of bones at the wheel was the one gripping the leash.

Ragetti didn't have to see his fellow pirates to know he'd ruffled some feathers; the chorus of random insults was informative enough. Trying to ignore them, the young man spat out a mouthful of rainwater and anxiously righted himself. If nothing else, the mishap had taught him not to panic so much when he made a turn, and so he pulled the wheel back to the left with all the care he could muster. To his relief, the _Pearl _began to edge back into its rightful position.

Ahead of him, the rest of the crew was also making progress. Marty and Cotton sprang away from the end of their cannon and zealously pushed it forward, tossing aside their tools. As they did, the smaller of the two called back over his shoulder.

"We're ready t'fire!"

The instant he heard this, a hint of demonic glee flashed on Pintel's face. His eyes were suddenly glued to the pair's cannon, and an odd hush fell over everyone around him.

"Yeh 'ear that, lads?" the first mate crowed. "They're _ready!_ It _can_ bloody 'appen! _Now step lively an' make us MORE ready!!_"

The rest of the crew, to say the least, was tremendously motivated. Below deck, Windrick heard the news and quickly relayed it to the other gunners.

"Step lively, gents!" he shouted down with a curious eagerness. "We're catching up in the arms race!"

The cannoneers picked up their pace without so much as a glance towards him. This was it. The enemy ship was almost aligned with the _Pearl_, and they were all just a heartbeat away from finishing their loading. The entire battle would be over in minutes, but this was the moment that would decide who'd be celebrating by then.

The thought was enough to turn Mullroy's muddy face pale, and he could tell that his equally white friend was imagining the same ugly fate.

"No pressure, mate," the pirate said flatly.

"If we aren't ready soon, we'll all be getting a lot wetter!" Murtogg squeaked back.

But the crew's efforts were paying off.

"Done!" another man above deck yelped as he jerked back from his cannon. Charlotte almost whipped him in the face with her wet hair as she whirled around.

"We've got another one finished!" she shouted. Seconds later, a third loading team made the same announcement.

Pintel was beaming and seething all at once as he watched the _Navigator_ approach. This was definitely it.

The lieutenant barely even waited for the ships' bows to pass. "_Fire!_"

_BOOM! BOOM!_

Both shots easily hit their mark, making the buccaneer ship rock sharply. Once he saw this, the lieutenant hid a satisfied smile and prepared to give the order again. Before he could, however, the _Black Pearl_ gave its rebuttal.

"FIRE!!"

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! _

_SMASH!_

Every soldier on the Navy ship was thrown off balance by this, surprised in more ways than one. The air around them was instantly filled with smoke and deafening battle cries, and a shower of splinters rained down on their heads alongside the water. The whole team of red-coated men paused to make sense of this sudden mishap, and just like that, it dawned on them. The _Navigator_ had been hit!

The lieutenant and his men quickly stood up where they'd fallen and gazed in shock back at the _Pearl_. Pintel could see them.

"FIRE AGAIN, LADS!" he howled to the planks under his feet. He never looked away from his enemy. "RIP 'EM APART BOW TO STERN!"

Down in the cannon room, the rest of the gunners heard their cue.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! _

Shot after shot blasted out through the row of square portals, adding to the damage one at a time. Pintel wasn't the only mad man on that black-sailed vessel anymore; the entire crew was angry at the loss of their captain, and as his murderer's ship sailed past them, the pirates below deck were fulfilling their vendettas in an orderly line.

"_FIRE ALL!_"

The lieutenant didn't have time to regret his overconfidence.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Ragetti could only gawk at the scene. Every single shot was smashing right into the _Navigator_, never remotely missing or falling short of the target. It was like the Lord Himself was guiding those cannonballs! The entire Navy ship was already spewing black smoke and broken timber, and they'd barely been at it for a minute! A wave of glee immediately swept over the lanky sailor at this apparent victory, but it soon gave out as his dread began bubbling back to the surface. The _Black Pearl_'s gunners were completely ripping the other vessel to shreds—blowing it straight to Kingdom Come, in fact—along with every sailor aboard it…and Pinters was the one making it all happen.

Bony hands started to tremble as they clutched the wheel.

Pintel, however, wasn't letting this or any other thought pass through his mind. He wasn't going to think like a human again until his enemy was sunk.

"_SEND THESE BIG-WIG BASTARDS DOWN TO SEA OL' HOBB!_"

_BOOM! BOOM!_

The _Navigator_'s bow slanted forward at the last hit. A sudden hush fell over the pirates as they saw this, and they ceased their firing to take in the sight. The deathwatch had begun.

Even then, the crippled Navy vessel tried to bring them down with it. Another shot was fired from the middle of the ship, but the most it could do was add to a hole that'd already been blown into the _Pearl_'s starboard side. The two gunners beside Murtogg and Mullroy easily dodged the wasted cannonball, ignoring it then as it crashed through the wall behind them.

After that, the _Navigator_ continued drifting on its course, then with an eerie, almost humanlike shudder, the ship tipped further into the water. The faint sound of soldiers yelling orders could be heard, but it was abruptly drowned out as the damaged front mast creaked and groaned…and finally fell to the deck.

It was over.

The _Black Pearl_ immediately erupted in cheers. All across the main deck, crewmen were whooping and hopping about in excitement. Marty hoisted himself on top of his cannon and shook his fist triumphantly at the sinking ship. Beside him, Friskin let out a giddy yowl and tossed his hat into the air. Before he could catch it, his loading partner reached over with a hoot and dumped another hat full of rainwater on top of his unsuspecting head. Even Cotton was gagging out whatever rowdy noises he could make.

On the quarterdeck, Ragetti took one look at the celebration and slumped to his knees in relief and exhaustion. He remained knelt for a few seconds as he tried to stop his numb arms from rattling, then stirred out of his daze as another woeful thought came to him. Glumly, he peered down at the captain's cabin doors.

Pintel and Charlotte weren't sharing the crew's glee either. Snatching her tri-cornered back from another cackling man, the latter of the two stood up and turned to gaze dismally back at that same cabin. As she did though, the dark-haired woman could hear the other gunners laughing and shouting below deck, then suddenly saw a figure emerge from the stairwell. It was Windrick.

Charlotte paused and studied him oddly. When did he go down there? The last time she'd seen him, the man had been up here stuffing powder down cannons in the rain with the rest of them.

Windrick sensed her eyes on him as he made his way across the deck, and with a furtive glance towards her, he looked away and weaved his way into the cluster of crewmen. This only sparks another question in Charlotte's head: _why_ did he go down there? The feisty woman had always been suspicious of men since she'd first gone to sea, and an officer-turned-captive with a chip the size of a galleon in his shoulder wasn't about to avoid detection. Still, she let the old sneak go for now; something far more pressing was weighing on her mind. Placing her hat back on her head, Charlotte took a deep breath and carefully crept up to the captain's quarters.

Part of her hadn't believed that Gibbs was dead at first, or at least hadn't wanted to. He'd welcomed her aboard his ship with barely a question, and had gladly let her stay even after her cover had been blown. What was more, he hadn't kept her around just to feed some disgusting lustful desire, like most of his kind would've tried to do. Rather, Gibbs had seen her as a valuable crewmember that deserved just as much respect as any man on his ship. A pirate captain like that was rare, and Charlotte would lament him for that.

However, she stopped in her tracks the moment she could see inside the cabin. Kneeling beside Gibb's body in that mess, shaky and pale as can be, was Ragetti. The younger sailor was oblivious to Charlotte as he leaned over his fallen captain, then bowing his head, he lifted one hand and silently touched it to his own brow, heart, and shoulders. It was the Sign of the Cross.

Charlotte watched him with a pang of quiet pity, then left him alone with his prayers. She could wait her turn.

At the head of the ship, Pintel stood like a statue, sullenly watching the _Navigator_ sink as he sailed past it.

--

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(Finally, another update! I'll try to get the next chapter up a little faster!)


	13. Two Apples

(Disclaimer: I don't own anything.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

The next twenty-four hours saw an uneasy silence settle over the _Black Pearl_'s crew. It hadn't taken long for the reality of their captain's death to set back in, and once that'd happened, the pirates had ceased their celebrating and begun repairing their ship without a word. Some of them were left speechless with grief. Most were just too afraid to talk about it.

To Ragetti, it felt like there'd been two casualties. Pintel hadn't so much as looked at any of the other crewmen since the battle, let alone at him. The first mate seemed like he was in a trance, spending that day seated lifelessly below deck with nothing but his thoughts and Gibbs's weathered hat for company. Worse yet, when he wasn't sitting, the old sailor would be seen aimlessly wandering the _Pearl_'s lower levels with the same dismal look on his face. Even then, he would carry that lonely hat with him, unable to let go of it in more ways than one.

It was enough to make the most hardened buccaneer want to sleep above deck.

Gibbs's body had been removed in the traditional way—wrapped in rags and tipped unceremoniously overboard with a few chain shots to drag it straight to the seafloor. It'd been more like a disposal than a farewell, and Ragetti was certain that the harshness of it had only worsened Pintel's state of mind. Knowing that just made the one-eyed pirate ten times more afraid to talk to his uncle.

At this thought, Ragetti frowned and peered up from his swab rag. It was the second morning after the battle, and for now, he was alone in front of the captain's cabin doors. Seeing that his fellow crewmembers were too busy to notice him, the wiry man set his work aside and gazed into the empty room.

It bothered him that he missed Gibbs so much. Sure, he'd sailed with the old swashbuckler for more than five years, but compared to Pinters and the longer acquainted crewmen like Marty and Cotton, Ragetti barely even felt like he _knew_ him. By all right, he shouldn't have been missing Gibbs at all! It made no sense to!

Despite this numbing logic, there was another part of the young pirate that knew better. Gibbs had been an integral part of all of their lives for so long, and now that his calming, authoritative presence was gone, a bitter void had been left behind.

The only other time Ragetti'd felt such a conflicted loss had been six years ago, shortly before he and the rest of Barbossa's mutineers had finally lifted their terrible curse. It was when he'd met his father, Oscar, for the first and only time.

Oscar Ragetti. Just the mention of that name made his throat tighten. It was an encounter the scrawny sailor would've done anything to forget about, and for the most part, he'd been able to. Working, watching animals, eavesdropping on conversations…they'd always been ways to distract himself from how miserable his life really was. Now though, with Pinters avoiding him like this, there was nothing left to suppress that memory.

And so Ragetti let it resurface.

…………………

Hispaniola. That was the island's name. It was said to be one of the greatest places in the entire Caribbean to be a pirate, second only to Tortuga of course. According to most, this number-two status was the direct result of slightly higher rum prices, which couldn't be avoided at a port so close to the government-infested Jamaica.

Unable to drink anything anyway, Pintel and Ragetti were able to enjoy the island for what it really was: an appetizer. A metaphorical taste of what their lives would return to once the curse was gone—a sample of near achievement that, for once, had them _both_ scrambling like hungry dogs as they set to work. They were down at the docks at the moment, helping the rest of their cursed crewmen load their newly purchased gunpowder into a pair of longboats. To the younger pirate, it was absolute bliss.

He was standing a few meters behind Pintel, giggling stupidly as he observed a mangy gray cat clawing and hissing at its own tail off to his left. That was when he heard someone else carefully walking up to him.

"…Could I 'ave a word, lad?"

Ragetti turned at the hesitant voice and immediately forgot his glee. It was that fellow with the blue bandanna, the same one who'd pestered them for coming ashore in these little boats an hour ago and stared at his wooden eye. Pinters had told the man off well enough at the time, and yet here he was again, probably with some nasty comeback up his sleeve. The cursed pirate quickly recoiled, hunching his shoulders timidly and glancing at Pintel's turned back.

To his surprise, the stranger didn't mock the cowardly display. He only paused and watched Ragetti for a moment, still seeming stunned by the sight of the emaciated figure. When it became clear to the elder that his subject wasn't going to budge, he quietly spoke again.

"You don't 'ave t'be afraid of me. I just… I just wanna talk to you."

Ragetti was too anxious to notice the tenseness in the other's voice. Hands fidgeting wildly, he lowered his scraggly blonde head and stepped back. Then he meekly called for help. "_Pinters?_"

A light of dread suddenly flashed in the stranger's eyes, sending a ripple of pain across his thin face. The last thing he could bear right now was another confrontation with that snarling bald man. His desperation was starting to show, and with precious time slipping away, he dropped what was left of his patient disguise.

"Son…"

That got Ragetti's attention in a heartbeat. The word itself meant nothing to him, as nearly every pirate he'd ever come across called him "son" without a thought, but there was something about the way this fellow said it that couldn't be ignored. He sounded…troubled. Maybe even sad. The squirming crewman froze, then finally lifted his head to meet the stranger's gaze. Only then did he see the weariness beneath it.

Now the other man was the one struggling to keep his eyes up. "…I really need t'ave a word wif you."

Ragetti paused indecisively. The sharp, twisted feeling in his gut was telling him to turn around and run straight to Pintel, but he saw nothing but honesty on that worn face. This bandanna-clad fellow _needed_ to talk to him, and Ragetti couldn't bring himself to look away anymore. After a minute of wrestling with his options, he gulped and went forward.

The two continued to stare at each other, unsure of what to do next.

"What's your name, lad?" the stranger asked softly.

That wooden eyeball started twitching at this question. "R-Ragetti…" its owner replied.

As soon as he said this, a symphony of emotions began playing on the first pirate's face. Shock, confusion, panic, excitement…it was all on display, and the only way that the thin-cheeked stranger could appear composed was by staring at the ground.

"Who…who gave you that name?" The man was completely rattled.

Ragetti nodded back at the still oblivious Pintel. "Pinters there. 'E said me dad's name were Ragetti. Sumfin' Ragetti. No first name."

The stranger just nodded, still trying to control himself as he sucked in a deep breath.

It was Ragetti's turn to ask the question then. "What 'bout you?" He bobbed his head in wary anticipation. "What's _yer_ name?"

He never would've asked if he'd known how much the answer would come to haunt him.

"…_Oscar_ Ragetti."

The whole port could've blown to pieces right then without either of them noticing. Ragetti's mind was practically going up in sparks itself. _Another_ Ragetti? It was impossible! Ragetti was_ his_ name! There couldn't be another person with the same name as him! Unless…

It was like he was seeing the older buccaneer for the first time. The thin face, the long limbs, the dark blue eyes, even the hint of dirty blonde that still clung to his graying hair…

This man shouldn't have been a stranger at all.

"Y-you—you mean—" the one-eyed pirate stammered.

The_ other_ Ragetti gave a careful nod. "I 'fink so." He fell silent and studied the boy wistfully. "S'like starin' in a lookin' glass that you're not sure's there. Ain't it?"

The younger Ragetti could only manage his own nod. His head was still reeling too much to do anything else.

"Who was your mother?"

Again, the slouching lad failed to speak. There was too much pain lurking behind that answer for him to say it aloud, and a part of him wondered if he was even allowed to believe it. After all, he and Pinters had both agreed to forget Rebecca Pintel, since it was boundlessly easier than forgiving her. Unable to voice his conflict, Ragetti just looked down and glumly shook his head.

Oscar understood and eagerly moved on. "I don't know 'ow to explain it. I just…" He tore his eyes away for a second, then gestured awkwardly at Ragetti with both hands. The whole time, he was on the verge of a nervous laugh. "I look at you, and… I just _know!_"

"Yeh're me dad," Ragetti murmured. He remained focused on the ground, still piecing together his overwhelming position.

Across from him, Oscar let part of his muted laugh escape. The words were finally out there. "Yes. I'm your dad." He waited for Ragetti—his son Ragetti—to look up at him before he continued. "I wanna know more! 'Ow long're you an' the other mates stayin' 'ere?"

That was when the last of the pieces fell into place. Ragetti went rigid, staring past Oscar in a daze as realization dawned on him. He suddenly snapped his head around to stare at Pintel and the rest of the _Black Pearl_'s crew, as well as the pair of longboats tied at the dock. Both of the pitiful vessels were so packed with barrels that their passengers would have to sit on top of them to get back to the ship, and the antsy pirate knew that Barbossa wouldn't waste time here once everything was loaded. Knowing this, the young man finally looked up at the orange-tinted sky, fully confirming his dread.

The sun was starting to set.

Ragetti felt like a fist had just been rammed through his chest. This couldn't be happening.

"…Not long," he replied in a wavering voice.

Oscar glanced past him at the other crewmen, unaware of how dire the situation was. Concern gripped his features, but a solution quickly came to him.

"I could go wif you."

It took a second for this to register with Ragetti. "What?"

"I could join your crew!" Oscar went on with more enthusiasm. "Get in one of 'em wee boats wif you an' row back to your ship. I'd be curious to see if it really exists!" He winked slyly at this, recalling his banter with Barbossa. Ragetti, however, was too sick to even smirk at the reference.

This was his father. After living thirty years without one, he'd finally found his father, and now the sun was going down…

Oscar could see the troubled expression forming on his boy's face, but the brightness never quite left his tone. "What's th'matter?"

A sickening knot was starting to form in Ragetti's stomach. "You…You can't."

That was when his father's cheer did start to fade. "What d'you mean?"

"Cap'n Barbossa…'e won't let you on board 'cause of what you said b'fore. Teasin' 'im 'bout 'is boats and all."

The cloud of regret passing over Oscar's face was hard to miss. He was completely at the mercy of a man that he'd royally irked, and he sensed from his word with the sour captain that Barbossa didn't dispense forgiveness very freely. The irony would've been laughable if there wasn't so much at stake behind it. Starting to eel cornered, the distressed parent threw his last option forward.

"Then come wif me." He motioned to Pintel before Ragetti could object. "Your ol' mate can come along too! It'll be all three of us salty gents sailin' up the straights on the _Devil's Dahlia_. The captain'd be mighty pleased to bring on more crew himself!"

It was the perfect solution: Ragetti would be with his father, he'd have Pinters with him, and they'd both be free from the mutinous leader who'd done nothing short of terrorize them for the past ten years. It was perfect…except for one terrible little detail.

Ragetti nearly doubled over before he could speak. He simply couldn't look at Oscar when he gave his answer. "…We can't do that either. Pinters'n me…Barbossa needs us. Needs_ every _man 'e can get—"

"But not me?" Oscar jumped in suddenly. He squared his narrow shoulders and began sharply scanning the pirates around them, practically rolling up his coat sleeves in anger. "Where is 'e? I'll wring a 'welcome aboard' right out of 'im if I 'ave to!"

"No!"

It all happened in a flash. Thousands of images whirled through Ragetti's head, images of every drunk and boasting fool who'd ever tried his luck with the cursed, indestructable captain. Images of every lifeless body toppling to the ground in a puff of blue pistol smoke. The frightened yelp leapt out of his throat before he felt it coming, and in the next millisecond, the young crewman reached out and seized one of his father's sleeves. It was the same way he'd clung to Pintel's tattered sleeves a hundred times before, frightened and restraining all at once.

Oscar halted at this startling protest, gazing in shock at his badly shaken child. Ragetti's head stayed lowered, expecting a retaliation.

He couldn't let that horrible image play out again. Not with his dad…

"Son? I lived half my life a father and never knew it," Oscar said softly then. "I ain't gonna live the rest of it knowin' I let that slip away."

"You didn't," was all his lad's quivering voice could force out.

There was a long pause, then at last, Oscar relaxed. Sensing this, Ragetti let go of the man's sleeve and resumed fiddling with his own nervous hands. His father awkwardly glanced around once more, then tugged at the hem of his brown coat. Oscar could see that Ragetti was disturbed beyond words by what'd just happened, and there was no way for the grizzled elder to deny his guilt for that. This was the second time today that he'd upset this boy—the only way he could redeem himself was to suppress his aggression and respect his son's wishes, however painful it might be.

His thoughts gathered, the man in the blue bandanna drearily spoke again. "I guess… there's no easy way to walk away from this. You and I 'ave…_obligations_…and those other chaps don't care about our 'little problems' on the side. Two apples don't mean much to the rest of the orchard." A sharp note of regret jumped into his voice at this last comment.

Ragetti blinked, misunderstanding the metaphor. "Cap'n Barbossa likes apples."

Despite himself, Oscar laughed dryly at this. "Aye, but I'll wager 'e can't tell 'em apart."

He hesitated, letting his meaning sink in, then whispered one more thought. "I'm so sorry, son."

Their eyes met, then as a last reassuring gesture, Oscar reached out and placed a hand on Ragetti's shoulder. For several seconds, neither one said anything, preferring to share the moment with quiet smiles. They were alone with each other, safe from any intrusion, and that minute of peace was more than they could have hoped for.

But it would never be enough.

…………………

Ragetti listlessly rummaged through his pockets as the memories continued playing out. It was time to distract himself again.

That was it. That was how his moment with Oscar had ended, with a concealing silence that'd only ceased when they'd turned and gone their separate ways. He'd wanted to say more to his father that day, some small thing that would've told the man he was forgiven for whatever he regretted. Ragetti would've even told him there was nothing to be sorry for in the first place—just _something_ to make that devastated look leave Oscar's face—but instead, he'd been too overwhelmed to say a word. It was just one of too many reasons why that encounter still haunted him today.

He'd lost somebody he'd barely known, someone he shouldn't have even missed, and now Gibbs's death was stirring up that same feeling again.

Ragetti's thoughts returned to Pintel, who was still missing from the scene.

Oscar had been right. Two apples didn't mean much to the rest of the orchard. Not even two as close to each other as Pinters and Gibbs. That was why the _Black Pearl_'s captain was murdered in the first place; those Naval officers didn't care if some pirate had comrades who would miss him. The world wouldn't change at all if one little friendship was ruined.

At last, Ragetti found what he was digging for: his wood block. Feeling its grainy surface against his fingers, he retrieved the unfinished craft from his pocket and stared at it dully. There was still a long way to go. The sailor frowned, tugged absently at his long hair, then pulled out his carving knife.

The _Black Pearl_ needed a new captain now, and it was going to take the biggest distraction imaginable to take his mind off of that.

--

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Soon to be updated…


	14. Pirate Election

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Pintel knew he couldn't hide forever.

It was a grim thing to think about, but while he'd been lurking below deck, the first mate had realized that even if Gibbs _had_ survived, the _Pearl _would've still sailed away from that battle as a bucket of splinters. The _Navigator_ was hit and sunk, but the only way for any of the pirates to move on from this mess was to literally pick up the pieces of their ship. That was why, as the sun had risen high overhead in its noon position, Pintel finally gathered himself together and reemerged on deck.

He was going to help his crewmates clean up the _Black Pearl_—in every way possible.

"Lads!" he called out resolutely.

Every head in sight snapped up to stare at him just then, greeting the old man with a sea of startled and wary faces. Even Ragetti seemed unusually cautious as he eyed his friend from off to the left. Pintel ignored him and continued.

"Drop yer mops'n pales and gather 'round!"

Several seconds passed without a response, but eventually, the rest of the crew did reluctantly get up and step forward. They were all sharing the same discomfort in that moment, knowing little about their first mate, and that unease was evident with each step of their lead feet. The most hesitant one by far was Ragetti, who only stood and remained stiffly in his place. Unlike his shipmates, he knew _a lot_ about Pintel.

A muffled anger smoldered in the bald man's eyes as he studied the group. When he was convinced that he had their full attention, he squared his jaw and spoke again.

"I don't 'ave t'tell yeh all wot's happened 'ere. We lost us a good man two days ago. A real gentleman o' fortune…" At this, he paused to keep his bitterness from bubbling back to the surface. "But we's still got our ship, and that'll always mean we won that battle. Cap'n Gibbs 'ad a mission, and even if none a' _you_ were in this for it, _he_ kept 'is aim on it right 'til the end! _And all for the sake of this ship!_"

Pintel punctuated the boisterous statement with a slam of his fist on the rail. He was fuming at the thought of Gibbs's last words, so much that his gristly hands were almost trembling, and the sight of three nearby pirates jumping from the sharp BAM only fueled him further.

"Now we knows wot we's s'posed t'be lookin' for. Ol' Cap'n Jack Sparrow's out there somewhere, and I says we finish wot Gibbs started and find 'im now. All those who agree say 'aye.'"

The sixty-two crewmen before him traded consulting glances, then gave Pintel a scattered chorus of positive answers.

"Aye!" a blonde man in a gray vest suddenly piped. "What be'er way t'pay our respects than finishin' the job?" This earned several more supportive nods.

Beside the blonde man, his muddy-haired friend concurred. "It's the only right thin' t'do, aye. All's we need is a way t'find Sparrow though."

"We 'as a way," Pintel confirmed. "Gibbs found 'imself the right 'eadin' days ago. All's we 'ave t'do is stay on course and we'll come out right in the end."

It was a feeble cover-up at best, but the stocky buccaneer didn't want to reveal the secret of Sparrow's compass just yet. Except for Rags, Pintel was the only one on board who knew what the device could do, and he realized that a ploy like that could easily make him indispensable on this manhunt. Besides, telling a story about magic compasses would make him look downright batty to the crew, especially after he'd spent two days wallowing alone in his misery. He was relieved to see them all more or less buying into his fib.

"So that's it, then," he pushed ahead quickly. "We's all in agreement for goin' on wif this." He dragged his iron gaze across the crowd's faces as he readied his next words. "…Only fing we needs now is a cap'n."

Ragetti could almost hear his bony neck crack as he snapped to attention. _That_ was what this little rally was all about!

Pintel looked down at the deck then, suddenly becoming modest. "As first mate…I'm offerin' t'step up. Anyone else?"

His one-eyed companion cocked his head oddly. Pinters had been drooling at this chance like a dog at a ham hock for half a decade, yet now that it was here, he didn't sound like he wanted it at all. Maybe he was bothered by the idea of replacing Gibbs. Or maybe—

"I am."

Every pirate on deck immediately shouted in confused protest as the fellow strode forward. The minute Ragetti saw him, he knew why.

It was Windrick.

Just like that, Pintel's anger wasn't so subdued anymore. "WOT?!" he blasted.

"I'm offering to step in as captain of this ship," Windrick elaborated wryly, coming to a stop in front of the older man. "I believe I meet all the requirements."

"_You're_ the reason we needs a new cap'n in the first place!" Pintel retorted hotly. "You set up that 'ole run-in, didn't yeh?!"

"I've been swabbing decks on this vessel ever since you captured me. I wasn't expecting the _Navigator_ any more than you were."

The first mate donned a vicious sneer and stormed up to Windrick. There was nobody in his world but him and that slimy cad now. "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't shoot your ugly 'ead off right 'ere," he said in a low growl.

His opponent was unfazed. "Because I'm no safer with the Navy than you are. Did I not also break their rules? Did I not have to change my name and swindle my way back into their ranks?"

Pintel's expression turned sour at that. It was true; that rat probably did have as much to lose as any deserter if he ever got caught. Even with eight years of practice, "Franklin Morgause" could've been a step away from losing his cover, and turning in a ship like the _Black Pearl_ would only put him under the light even more. Still, the thought of just killing him now was too sweet to ignore. Windrick certainly had it coming, and Pintel had forgotten until now that the uniformed captive also knew about Jack Sparrow's compass.

The former Navy man turned from his rival and raised his voice to address the crew. "I tried to prevent the other day's battle before it started. You all saw me. I tried to talk our way out of it. Why would I lie to someone that I knew was on my side?"

"Maybe you're still lying—to us!" Marty pointed out from the front of the crowd.

"All the more reason to think of me as one of you."

Pintel crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. "Wot makes you 'fink we'd even want you on as cap'n?"

"Why, I _was_ captain of a ship only four days ago," Windrick answered coolly. "If you want someone to sail and command this vessel, you'll need someone who knows how to do it."

"An' _I_ says yeh needs someone who knows the ship!" Pintel shot back. He gazed out over his listening comrades. "I've sailed on the _Black Pearl_ longer'n any one of you! This ain't about who 'as the 'ighest rank!"

"It isn't about who can shout the loudest either," the other candidate added.

Ragetti felt his throat knotting as their fiery debate progressed. Pinters looked a blink away from ripping Windrick's arms out of their sockets. Why on earth did that big-wig blighter want to be in charge of the _Pearl_ anyway?

Before he could ponder any more of this baffling situation, another crewmember decided to pitch a suggestion to the two contenders.

"I call for a vote!" Charlotte shouted.

Pintel and Windrick turned to face her strangely. "A vote?" the latter of the pair echoed.

The woman nodded. "Aye. It's up to the crew to elect their captain. Each man has his say, and the nominee with the most supporters wins the rank."

Windrick sent Pintel a skeptical glance. "This is a tradition?"

Charlotte answered unwaveringly. "We pirates _are_ capable of forming a civilized government." A deaf man could've heard the wryness in her voice.

For a moment, the gentleman locked his gray eyes with hers, intrigued. He held out one arm then and bowed his head, humoring the woman. "Very well," he said with a small smirk. "I was never one to deny a lady her request. Mr. Pintel?"

Ragetti watched his old friend tensely. Pintel just stared at Windrick and snorted like a bull. "There's sixty-one 'ands odd on board, minus us. We'll 'ave a vote."

The first mate faced his fellows directly. The Berkley lass hadn't lied; as wild and disorderly as they were, pirates were always more than willing to take up democracy for these sort of occasions. Voting was a simple process among buccaneers: the crewmen's names would be called one by one, and each member would answer that call with his choice. It would've been far faster to simply ask for a show of hands, but no captain in his right mind was going to trust his career to a possible miscount. Only the refuse of society could prevent cheating so effectively.

"Adler!" Pintel shouted after a minute of thought. "Wot says yeh, me or Windrick?"

"I says you," the thin-shouldered black man answered.

"Good." The aging sailor paused as he fumbled for names in his head. "…Wot about you… uh…Marty?"

"Pintel!" was the tiny man's vote, mostly because he disliked Windrick even more.

The next pirate in sight was Cotton, which stopped Pintel in an instant. Somehow, that scruffy mute's name wasn't coming to him at all. "…Err…um…Bird man!" he stammered, pointing erratically at the parrot.

"_Awk! Navy bilgerat!_" the animal squawked. Cotton cringed and clamped a firm hand over his bird's beak, but could say nothing for himself.

Windrick gestured brightly to the man. "That sounds like one for me," he concluded.

Pintel scoffed. Stupid feather duster. "…Uh…Giger? Wot about you?"

The election resumed, and right before his eyes, Ragetti saw four more crewmen in a row vote for his uncle. Pinters was a shoe-in to win if this kept up, but one distressing thought in the back of the younger pirate's mind kept him from enjoying this notion. It'd only been ten minutes since this showdown had started, and the old first mate was already forgetting names.

"Rigby?"

"Pintel!"

"Brambles?"

"Windrick!"

"Friskin?"

"Pintel!"

It was all rushing back to Ragetti's head right then. All the times that he'd seen his uncle in a daze during battle, all the times he'd seen him lunge at his own friends, and that one frightening moment when he'd seen him struck down on the _Prowess_…

"Uh…Blue...Gill?"

"Pintel!"

"Collins?"

"Pintel!"

"…Berkley?"

Charlotte glared at the Navy man with a mysterious coldness. "Windrick!" she replied.

This grabbed Ragetti's attention for a second, but another piercing memory interrupted his curiosity. In his mind, he saw Gibbs standing out on deck, completely rain-soaked and screaming orders to a pack of frantic gunners. It was the _Black Pearl_'s last battle, and as the scene continued to play out, Ragetti remembered every horrible detail.

The flash of orange. Him screaming Gibbs's name. The explosion of metal shards on deck, then the captain sailing backwards into his cabin doors. It was all flashing right in front of the lad as clearly as the day it'd happened, and as he watched those images, he suddenly noticed another detail.

Gibbs had been standing by himself. The burly commander had been alone in the middle of the deck when that grapeshot had fired, and the deadly canister had almost landed directly in front of him. Of all the places and people on deck, the _Navigator_'s gunners had aimed for that precise one.

The realization sent a queasiness to Ragetti's gut that almost made his legs buckle. Gibbs had been targeted! Those Navy blighters had been aiming right for him—right for the captain!

"Yorker?"

"Pintel!"

"Darrows?"

"Pintel!"

Ragetti thought he was going to be sick. Gibbs had died solely because he'd been the captain. He'd probably still be alive today if he'd lost that election five years ago! But if Gibbs had lost, then who would be dead today?

Pintel stopped again to stare at the pair of young men beside Darrows. "Uh…you there wif the 'at and big eyes!"

Mullroy straightened up just then, looking somewhat indignant. "Mullroy!" he snapped back.

The bald fellow didn't show a hint of remorse. "Wot's yer vote?"

After a pause, Mullroy frowned and lowered his eyes. "Pintel," he murmured reluctantly.

The stocky elder pointed to Murtogg then. "You?"

"Pintel!" the younger man answered.

Eight more crewmen were called out after them, seven of which also voted for the _Pearl_'s first mate. The election was almost halfway over now, and it was becoming clear to both candidates which of them was going to come out as the victor. Pintel glanced back to admire the withered look on Windrick's face before he skimmed the crowd again, searching for a more familiar face. Forgetting names was the last thing he wanted to do when he was on a roll. Another moment passed, then at last, his eyes came to rest on a lanky figure in the back of the cluster.

"Ragetti? Wot 'bout you?"

Time all but froze. Ragetti's head shot up the instant he heard his name, and for an unbearably long second, he could do nothing but stare fearfully at Pintel. A few heads turned towards him expectantly, but this extra pressure did nothing to help. The only thought registering in the whelp's mind was that he might be staring at a dead man.

Pintel blinked. "Ragetti!" he repeated, less patiently than before.

There was no other way. Gibbs had been killed by soldiers, the exact same fate that the one-eyed lad wanted to save his uncle from. Now Ragetti was backed into a corner, and he knew he'd never be able to live with himself if he didn't do something. Swallowing hard, he gathered his petrified voice and spoke.

"…W-Windrick."

That was when time did freeze.

His answer didn't seem to sink in with Pintel at first. The bald man's face went completely blank, then slowly grew surprised as the truth dawned on him. By then, an equally puzzled handful of crewmen around Ragetti had decided to move on with the voting.

"Well I make vote for Pintel!" a middle-aged Greek named Demetri piped adamantly.

"Aye!" a fellow named Galloway joined in. "So says I!"

"Pintel!" Torange shouted next.

Half the crew burst out yelling right then, but Pintel barely reacted to it. All he could do was gawk at that bony, long-haired cyclops from across the deck. What in the devil's name just _happened?_ It was impossible!

It wasn't long before the chaotic shouting started to get under Windrick's skin, and seeing that Pintel wasn't going to do anything about it, he stepped forward himself.

"Enough!" the soldier shouted. "This is getting us nowhere! Now all those in favor of Pintel give a show of hands!"

For once, the pirates were willing to listen to him. Every man with half a mind to support the first mate glanced questioningly around at his shipmates, then carefully raised a hand. Even those who'd already voted lifted an arm for the tally. Windrick's face darkened when he saw the display that he'd asked for. He didn't even have to bother counting them; it was plainly the majority.

He glared assumingly over at Pintel first, but again, the other man failed to acknowledge anything. That stubborn old brute looked as if the entire world had just flipped up-side-down in front of him.

"…Very well then," Windrick said flatly to the crew that'd rejected him. "I wish luck to your Captain Pintel."

The crowd erupted in cheers then. Some of the pirates were voicing their approval of this outcome. Others were taking this chance to cackle and hurl insults at the empty-handed Windrick. The racket should have all been music to Pintel's waiting ears, proof that his long-awaited victory had really come to him, but even then, it felt like nothing but a noisy echo in his mind. Every thought in his head was spinning together in one big hurricane, and that stupefying wind tunnel was blinding him from everything but that one scrawny man.

Impossible…It was impossible…

…………………

Ragetti found himself farther below deck than usual that evening. Between the election and his trying thoughts from before, he simply didn't have it in him to look at another person for the rest of the day, and so he'd gone down to the ship's storage cabin to work on his carving in peace.

As cruel fate would have it though, peace was the farthest thing from what he got.

He had his back to the doorway when it happened. Sitting on the floor with one side against the wall, he was too preoccupied with his wooden block to notice anything else. He didn't see the other man storm in until it was much too late.

"_You!_"

The next thing Ragetti knew, he was hurtling up and backwards. Two hands were viciously clutching the collar of his green jacket, and before he could cry out in shock, his trip suddenly ended with a heavy slam against the adjacent wall. Somebody'd yanked him onto his feet and pinned him flat on his back!

"You've got one devil of a nerve, you grubby li'l git!"

Ragetti flailed his arms and yelped in a senseless panic, but he was struck speechless the instant he saw his attacker's snarling face. It was Pintel.

"…What…what…" he stammered.

"You know bloody well wot!" The new captain looked ready to bite Ragetti's nose off. "You said you'd vote for me! Said it right to me face then stabbed me in the back! I outta' jam a cannon down your gullet right now, you ugly, cod-faced rotter!"

Ragetti shrank away as best as he could, frightened and hurt all at once. "What? I—I didn't—"

"Didn't _say_ it?" Pintel finished harshly. "'Fink back a ways! Sparrow'n Barbossa can't make tots an' tales 'bout who runs the _Pearl_, I throws me name in, and you says you'll vote for me! You said it! And then you changed it all t'impress some trouser-wearing man-lass!"

"That wasn't why I did it!" Ragetti retorted quickly.

Pintel clearly didn't believe this, as he shoved the other harder against the wall. "Aye? Then why _did _yeh?!"

Ragetti didn't know what to do. Pintel had a mad, glazed light in his eyes, like a startled horse that'd suddenly turned violent against the first thing in its sight. He'd been deeply troubled by the election before, and his confused mind had let that feeling twist and warp itself into something completely out of proportion. The only thing Ragetti knew for sure was that this threatening man wasn't the Pinters he'd grown up with.

When the shaken youth failed to reply to his question, Pintel went on mockingly. "Oi, wot's this? Yeh means there's really sumfin' _you_ _don't know?_ All these years, an' there'sa _question you can't answer?_" There wasn't a hint of a smile in his livid features.

"I did it for you!" Ragetti said then.

His assailant just spat. "Lyin' li'l mutt! You did it for _him!_ He's one of them!"

Whether or not Pintel was aware of it, Ragetti knew exactly who "he" was. The thin pirate's wooden eye was twitching nervously in its socket as he searched for something to say.

Pintel shifted his voice to a thick growl and leaned closer, driving his point home. "Don't you remember wot he did to us? Why d'yeh 'fink we jumped ship after one year? What 'ad yeh runnin' like a ninny every time yeh saw one of 'em after that? An 'ow the blazes do yeh 'fink I got _this?_" He jabbed a thumb at the long brown scar etched above his left brow. "From _shavin'?!_"

Ragetti gulped softly. He remembered the story behind that famous wound all too well. During their fourth month in the service, Pinters'd learned the hard way not to turn his head during a nasty flogging. Seeing that gruesome remnant together with his burning eyes in this terrifying moment was enough to turn any one a few shades lighter.

"They all did this to us!" Pintel screamed suddenly. "All of 'em! And after we got away, they found us and locked us up like dogs! Then they chased us halfway around the world an' back, and now they go and kill our cap'n! _But they were wrong about us!_ They thought they could cut off the snake's 'ead, but they didn't count on it growin' another one!"

"W-what does that mean?"

"WOTEVER I WANT IT TO!"

Ragetti just stared tensely at the ranting madman, too afraid to say anything more. Sensing this, Pintel sneered and threw him aside, releasing him. Then he turned and lurched towards the doorway. Now that there was some distance between them, Ragetti was able to work up a husk of courage.

"…Well, yeh did win anyways. You got what yeh wanted, even if I didn't vote for yeh." As as shaky afterthought, he added, "Cap'n."

Pintel stopped in the doorway to consider these words. Nearly a minute passed before he turned around, and when he did, the glazed look in his eye had become clearer. Ragetti would've felt a bit of hope at this, but that clearness only made it easier to see just how angry Pinters was.

The old fellow squared his jaw and made his way up to the other again. "Aye," he said with a cold nod. "I did." Then without so much as a pause, he reached over and snatched a bucket and mop out of the mess of supplies around him. Both were shoved forcefully into Ragetti's unexpecting hands.

The baffled whelp gawked down at the tools, then met Pintel's eye as the pieces started to come together. The captain met his gaze icily, and only had one crippling thing to say.

"Get t'work, you one-eyed maggot."

Ragetti felt his heart sink. Pinters didn't look like he recognized him at all, and it was plain from that stinging order that the aging pirate had no intension of remembering. The truth set in like a fist around Ragetti's throat.

His uncle had cut him loose.

Bony shoulders sulked, and the poor man woefully lowered his eye to the floor. When he did this, he spotted his knife and wood block lying right where he'd dropped them at the beginning of this bitter exchange. Unable to speak, Ragetti quietly bent down and collected his items, then turned and left the room. He never looked at Pintel once.

The lonely man made a final, dismal reflection on his situation as he started back up the stairs. All he'd wanted was to look out for his closest friend and only relative, to save him from a senseless death and help him redeem himself in their missing captain's eyes. But while these dreary thoughts passed through Ragetti's head, another realization dawned on him. He was already too late to do either.

In a way, Pintel—the_ real_ Pintel—was already dead.

--

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(I'm sorry, I can't seem to update this story any faster than once a month nowadays. I'll try to get a jump on the next chapter. Soon to be updated!)


	15. Hiding from Something

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Windrick's decision to nominate himself for captain had been every bit as surprising to him as it'd been to the rest of the crew, and to say the least, it had been a miserable failure. The former commander still wasn't sure what'd made him think he could win such an impossible election, but the opportunity had been too enticing to ignore. At any rate, the stunt had brought one curious crewmember into his sight, and so the following afternoon, he found himself approaching her with an air of respectful amusement.

Mindlessly tending to a frayed tack line, Charlotte hardly returned his interest.

"This really is an impressive vessel," Windrick commented idly. He stopped a short distance from the woman and stared up at the _Pearl_'s billowing sales. "I can see why she's escaped from so many others in the past."

Charlotte halfheartedly added to the small talk. "She's said to be the fastest in these waters."

"Second fastest," Windrick corrected dryly, letting his thoughts drift back to the _Prowess_. He lowered his head to smirk at the dark-haired beauty then. "Charles, is it?"

Despite herself, Charlotte let out a short laugh. "Charlotte, actually."

"I've been told it used to be Charles on this ship. Or so you'd led this crew to believe."

The woman focused on her work as she responded. "I've been discovered since then. I'm not that talented with disguises after all, sadly."

Windrick tilted his head, even more intrigued. "That's an odd thing to say. You should be pleased that no one can mistake you for a man. It's a compliment to your looks."

She glanced up at him as she tied off the tack line, humoring him. "You don't say?"

"A woman who hides herself like that should be ashamed."

Charlotte arched her eyebrows at the joking comment and moved on to a set of rigging by the rail. "It depends on what she's hiding from." She said the words more to herself, as if an unpleasant chord had been struck.

Moving on with her thoughts, she looked back over her shoulder to eye the uniformed man slyly. "And what's your name, _Captain?_"

Windrick couldn't help but smirk. "Charles."

"…And _your_ disguise?"

"Franklin Morgause, late of London—a newly appointed captain in his Majesty's navy. But now that I'm here, I'm Charles Windrick, former admiral again."

Charlotte nodded, suddenly more amused than interested. "Well its nice to meet both of you."

…………………

Ragetti'd found himself hovering particularly close to Murtogg and Mullroy since last night. The ugly episode with Pintel had left him in a troubled, even vulnerable state of mind, and the only way the blonde pirate could hold himself together was by clinging to the only other real friends that he had. Unfortunately, as he'd discovered years ago, the pair had all the intelligence and philosophical insight of a wad of sea kelp.

"I'm only saying," Mullroy droned on as he scrubbed the deck, "if the island of Iceland is all coniferous forests, then where'd the name come from?"

"Maybe it wasn't always coniferous," Murtogg offered. "Being that far north, it probably did have ice once."

"So what're you saying? The island just decided to mosey south a bit and warm up one day?"

"It could happen."

"Nah. I say it's all a matter of poor translation. Like when you try making English words out of Chinese symbols. I'll bet that the Icelandic word for 'coniferous forest' sounds an awful lot like 'ice.'"

Murtogg blinked. "…But…'coniferous forest' is _two_ words."

It was amazing how quickly the expression drained from Mullroy's face.

Slouched on his knees beside them, Ragetti never looked up from his bucket. "They called it Iceland to keep everyone else from comin' in an' takin' it," he explained lifelessly. "The name's s'posed t'be a turnoff. It don't mean anyfin'."

Mullroy turned to Murtogg then. "So it was all just a marketing ploy?" There was a trace of disappointment in his tone.

Already ignoring the duo, Ragetti set his swab rag aside and let his eye linger drearily on the deck. Somehow, he didn't feel like scrubbing anymore.

Murtogg noticed this. "Well what about Greenland, then? Did someone pull the same trick naming that?"

"Aye."

"…So…so which island was named first? Who copied whose idea?"

The young man started to sound anxious as he asked his last question, making his discomfort painfully obvious. Ragetti knew that Murtogg only wanted to keep him answering questions, to keep him engaged in the conversation so he'd feel included, but the one-eyed sailor didn't know whether to be grateful or upset by this gesture. Pinters had just stepped into the worst possible crew position and let his life-threatening confusion turn him against the one person who'd been trying to help him—to Ragetti, being pitied for that felt like dumping a jar of salt onto the wounds.

"…I don't know," the gaunt fellow murmured finally. There was nothing Murtogg could say to that.

His two companions took the hint and silently went back to work. After a heavy pause, Ragetti managed to push his misery down and resume his own swabbing.

Stupid decks. They never seemed to get any cleaner—

"Why did you vote for me?"

The sound of Windrick's voice made the lanky figure go rigid. He'd actually forgotten about the old rat-face until that instant, and having him reenter the picture so abruptly sent a sharp tremor through Ragetti's unprepared head. The pirate twitched as the nervous sensation set in, then lifted his head to glare at the man who'd gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Charlotte strode ahead of the Navy man with her chin in the air. "That's none of your business."

"Oh, I think it is," Windrick said with a devilish grin. "You're no admirer of mine, are you, Miss Berkley? You've no trust for a man like me, so you took the chance to set me in front of a firing squad and make it look like flattery."

"Ha! What if I did?"

"Then I'm impressed! I don't meet many women so calculating in my line of work."

"You're starting to sound like you don't meet many women at all." Charlotte was sporting a smirk of her own now.

Windrick took her cheap shot gracefully. "Would you really prefer it if I were more subtle? You could probably sense a man's advances from a port away after sailing with this lot. I might as well be upfront with my interests."

She sent him a wry backwards glance. "Running to the goods strong and fast. You're more like a pirate than I thought."

Ragetti couldn't believe what he was seeing. The abusive, humiliating memories from his year in the Navy had left enough of a scar on the youth's already troubled mind, but ever since the defeat of the _Prowess_, Windrick had been overstepping his boundaries in every way possible. That red-coat loving blighter had tried to set a course for the _Black Pearl_ right in front of Gibbs and even elect himself captain of the ship, but it was _this_ moment—this disgusting, despicable moment—that finally pulled the trigger.

Oblivious to everything but Charlotte and Windrick, Ragetti dropped his rag, hunched forward, and did something that he hadn't done since the dreaded Aztec curse had been lifted. He growled.

It would've seemed humorous to anyone watching him right then; the scrawny fool had kept his distance and watched his enemy do practically everything without a protest, but the minute a woman was thrown into the equation, Ragetti couldn't restrain his jealousy. He felt lonely without Pintel around, and that loneliness had dropped him to his absolute lowest point and forced him to summon his strongest defense.

His dog mind was back.

"_Grrrrrrr_…"

Ragetti's nails were digging deep into the splintery deck planks. Windrick was talking to Charlotte! That slimy, lousy sneak! He'd punch his ugly nose straight in! He'd knock him off his feet and flat onto his snobby ass! He'd make the smug cod-brain wish he'd never even looked at her!

It was right then that Ragetti's angry display caught Mullroy's eye. The dopey crewman did a double-take, unsure if he was really seeing the change that'd come over his friend. Once the bizarreness of the situation sank in with him however, he nudged Murtogg and motioned to Ragetti with a furtive smile. Neither of them had ever seen this side of their comrade before, and they couldn't help but find it entertaining.

"You need someone to put you on a leash, matey?" Mullroy asked just then.

It was enough to yank Ragetti back to his senses—startlingly so. He jumped sharply at the sound of the question, then with his concentration shattered, he snapped his head around and glared jaggedly at the other man. Human or canine, his fury was still firmly intact.

"Oi, yeh need someone t'shiver yer timbers?" Ragetti spat back mockingly. He didn't bother to keep his voice down. "Yeh know you're not foolin' anyone wif that stupid pirate lingo! Just makin' yerself sound like a right damn idiot like always!"

Suddenly, the lanky pirate had more of an audience than just Murtogg and Mullroy. At least a dozen crewmen around them were watching their little scene play out now, including Charlotte and Windrick. Ragetti fell silent as he sensed all of their eyes on him, then warily shifted his attention away from his two shocked companions. As soon as he did, his anger was replaced by an overwhelming wave of confusion. What just happened? What did he say?

His frantic gaze leapt from face to face for a second until it came to rest on Charlotte's. She looked as surprised as the rest of the spectators, but instead of sharing their distant awkwardness, a faint understanding shown in her eyes. Ragetti froze. It was like he could just see the wheel's turning in her head as she tried to figure him out.

It was too much to take in. Too much attention was being focused directly on him in this moment of weakness, and so Ragetti did the only thing he could to end it. With a humbled glance to Murtogg and Mullroy, the long-haired whelp stood up and quietly stormed away from his station.

Mullroy watched his troubled mentor creep below deck, then addressed Murtogg once more.

"Why didn't you tell me I sounded like an idiot?"

…………………

Pintel was surprised at how little he actually knew about pirate captains. Sure, he was aware that they steered the ship and ordered the crew to handle everything else, but it was what captains did on their own time that had him stumped. That was why, with Cotton at the wheel and the _Pearl_ back in prime shape, the bald commander found himself sitting uselessly at an empty table in his cabin.

_His_ cabin. As bittersweet as the rest of the situation was, Pintel couldn't hide his glee at the thought of finally having a place of his own. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; this spot was a blooming paradise compared the cramped, sulfur-wreaking sleeping quarters that he used to reside in, and once he'd dragged a bookshelf in front of one of the broken doors and put away all those lopsided wood carvings, the room had a real atmosphere to it. The aging man let his eyes wander then, admiring the changes.

For almost a minute, he sat there idly, but a small black item on a nearby bench seat suddenly caught his interest. It was the compass that he and Gibbs had taken off of Windrick the day after they'd captured him—Jack Sparrow's compass.

Just like that, Pintel thought of a way to pass the time.

"Oi!" he chirped to the lonely device. "Almost forgot 'bout yeh!"

The pirate grunted with effort as he hoisted himself out of his chair, then proceeded over to the bench. "Yeh're wot all th'fuss is about, ain't yeh? Ol' Jack's probably sailin' 'round in big drunken circles wifout you." He snatched up the tool on his last comment and flipped it open without a bit of intrigue.

Pintel had almost as little experience with compasses as he did with being a captain, but he knew enough about the contraptions to see that this was no ordinary compass. The first and biggest difference he noticed on its round face was that there weren't any letters written on it. The traditional N, S, E, and W were nowhere to be found, and he actually started to wonder if he was even holding the darn thing the right way. Wrinkling his brow, Pintel rotated the compass in his hands.

"Blazes!" he growled to himself. "There ain't a single direction on this fing! 'Ow's a fellow 'sposed to know where 'e's goin'?"

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, the lazily turning arrow snapped to life and swung sharply to the right. When it stayed taut in that position, Pintel looked up cluelessly to follow it. Sure enough, the compass was pointing directly at the thing that his aggravated mind wanted most: his pistol.

The _Black Pearl_'s captain straightened up awkwardly. "…Oh, right."

He looked back down at the compass's ivory face and cleared his throat for a second try. "Tell me where my 'at is."

This time, the red arrow dawdled back and forth without indicating his beloved tricorn, which was perched on top of a yellowing globe two meters away from the rest of his effects. This earned a puzzled frown from Pintel.

"…Must not have wanted it bad enough."

He stared down at the compass a third time, deeper in thought than before. What _did_ he want? He remembered there was some important task that needed to be done, but he was strangely hazy on what exactly that task was. A moment passed as Pintel struggled to recall something more, then after a somber glance towards the broken cabin doors, the forgotten reason for their five-year voyage hit him like a sack of bricks.

Jack Sparrow! How the devil had he let _that_ goal fall into the sewer?! He wanted to find Jack Sparrow—for Gibbs.

"…Where's Jack Sparrow?"

The compass didn't respond to him right away, but when he angrily repeated the question, its face whirled around for several dizzying seconds and stopped with its arrow pointing left.

Pintel arched a bushy eyebrow as he glanced out the port cabin windows. There was nothing to see but an endless stretch of seawater.

He shrugged and grinned triumphantly. "Alright then."

Before he could do anything else, however, the compass took off again. Pintel froze and watched with bulging eyes as that red arrow abruptly spun around to point in the opposite direction. A second later, it was pointing back to the left again.

The bald pirate could barely keep his jaw from dropping in shock. The compass _still_ wasn't stopping! Right, left, right, left, right—the little heap of junk couldn't make up its mind!

"J-Jack Sparrow," he said again. "…Jack Sparrow! Bloody tell me where Jack Sparrow is!" Even then, the stubborn device ignored him.

Pintel's thoughts were spinning worse than the arrow. What if he didn't really want to find Sparrow? He was convinced a minute ago that he did, but this screwball tinker toy was plainly trying to tell him otherwise. At any rate, there was something else besides Captain Jack weighing on his mind to create this tug-of-war, but Pintel couldn't guess for the life of him what it was.

Around and around, the magic compass continued to spin, and there wasn't a thing the dismayed pirate could do but watch it.

--

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(Soon to be updated!)


	16. A Bargain Struck

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

It wasn't hard to find Ragetti after his little outburst. The mop-haired crewman had dragged himself straight down to the ship's bilges where nobody would've bothered to follow him right away, and this grimy solitude gave him an excuse to be as loud as he wanted.

All Charlotte had to do was follow the splashing and cursing.

She paused at the top of the final staircase to listen to his tantrum. It was definitely Ragetti's voice, as foreign sounding as it was in this angry tone, but she had to crouch down and catch a glimpse of his lanky figure stomping around in the shadows before she was fully convinced. Once her target was in sight, she finally stepped forward and made her presence known.

"What was that little show for?"

Ragetti stumbled back with an even louder splash and gawked up at the woman like she'd just lobbed a cannon at him. His private tirade had been cut short, but the stupefied pirate was able to find just enough of a voice to answer the question.

"…I…I cut meself an' dropped sumfin'," he murmured, holding up a bleeding index finger as proof. He sounded like a toddler who'd just been chastised.

"I meant before," the other corrected flatly. "Have you been down here all this time?"

Ragetti just frowned and lowered his head, not wanting to confirm how pathetic he was.

Charlotte cut to her point as she trudged down the steps and into the knee-high water. "You know your friends up there think you've gone daft. They've been talking about you ever since you ran off."

"What'd they say?"

Charlotte came to a stop right in front of him. "Do you really want to know?"

Ragetti edged back a bit, keeping his eye glued to his fidgeting hands. The frigid bluntness in her voice only put him even less at ease.

"It…s'been rough times for everyone. New cap'n an' all…"

It was right then that he spotted the cursed item he'd dropped. The tiny shape was bobbing at the water's surface only a stride away from him, and if Charlotte hadn't been standing directly beside it, he would've dove for it like a mutt for a barrel of sausages. Instead, he made every effort to look away and pretend that he didn't even notice it—part of him still wanted to believe he could look composed around this woman. His meek attempt was for nothing though, and Charlotte followed his nervous glances right down to the vexing object. As soon as she saw it, she scooped it up for a closer look.

It was a wooden eyeball.

Ragetti'd never looked so animated. "Ah! Th-th-that's mine!" he yelped as he did everything but dance in place. He snatched the recovered orb back with both bands and fretfully shoved it back into its waiting socket, silently praising heaven that wood floated.

Charlotte stepped back slightly, clearly caught off guard by this display. How'd she manage to miss that empty black socket before?

As soon as he'd put his eye back in place, Ragetti realized what a fool he'd made himself look like. Wincing, the soaking wet pirate shrank back from his observer and nearly curled into a ball of shame.

"…S-splinters…sumtimes…" he pitifully tried to justify himself. A tug at the blood-tipped knife on his belt was enough of a hint to finish the story.

Charlotte quickly regained her own composure and watched him cower. "Why do you always do that?" she demanded impatiently.

When Ragetti peeked up at her, she continued. "You hunch down and stutter like that every time someone tries to talk to you! What the blazes are you so afraid of?"

Oddly enough, the young man didn't recoil at this piercing question. In fact, he stood up a little straighter as he stared at his fellow crewmember. The skittish light never left his eye, but he was able to more or less contain it as he clung to her words.

This was it. Ragetti'd lost control of his emotions and made a spectacle of himself before, and now Charlotte had him backed into a corner for it. The only sensible thing he could do was come clean and finally tell her how he felt—it could be ages before a chance this perfect came along again!

And so, after sucking in a deep breath, Ragetti shifted his gaze back down to his fumbling hands and gave the best answer he could think of.

"I…I ain't afraid. I just ain't good at bein' subtle."

The silence after that was unbearable. Every expression imaginable was drifting across Charlotte's face as the message sank in. Confusion, recollection, shock, disbelief… it was all playing out right in front of Ragetti, and the only thing he could do was force a sheepish smile and watch her expectantly, almost pleadingly. His thoughts had been completely thrown out into the open; there was nothing left to do but stand beside them.

But then another emotion appeared in the woman's dark eyes, a much heavier, deeper one that made her break eye contact with him for the first time in that moment: remorse. Ragetti's smile started to fade when he saw this, but before he could attempt to inquire, Charlotte sighed and spoke up.

"You've taken a little fancy and you've let yourself get all in knots over it." Then she lifted her head and somberly met his gaze again. "…But now you have to drop it and move on."

Ragetti could hear his hopes shatter.

The pleading look was gone, replaced by a devastated one. She'd said no. Charlotte had said no.

It was almost too much for the one-eyed pirate to take in. Pintel had told him off, Murtogg and Mullroy thought he was crazy, and now the only other person on the crew that he could've hoped to befriend had turned him down. An aching lump started to form in Ragetti's throat, and with one last look at the girl, he backed away and stared at the flooded floor planks in misery.

This place…this room…this was the same place he'd crawled to after he and Oscar had gone their separate ways. This was the same place where he'd told Pinters what'd happened back at that port six years ago.

Pinters…

The next thing Ragetti knew, he was dragging himself back up the stairs in a gloomy retreat.

Charlotte watched him go. She'd let the poor fellow down as easily as she could, but a part of her still hated to see him this way. That was why, just before he reached the top step, she finally said what she'd come to tell him.

"He doesn't hate you."

The man came to an abrupt stop in the doorway when he heard this, and although he never turned around, it was easy for Charlotte to see how surprised he was. Ragetti hadn't been expecting such a last-minute parting comment, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who "he" was.

An awkward silence hung in the air. Ragetti's first impulse was to gawk mindlessly at the wall ahead of him. Did Charlotte really say what he thought she did? How did she even know what was on his mind? Once he recovered from his stupor, however, a faint glimmer of hope returned to him. Could she be right? Hearing those words from her somehow made them easier to believe, and for one glorious moment, Ragetti felt the joy of a lifted burden. In the end though, his fleeting joy sank back under as reality slowly dawned on him.

Of course Pintel didn't hate him—Pintel didn't even know who he was anymore.

Without so much as a farewell glance, the forlorn figure resumed his exit and disappeared through that waiting doorway, leaving Miss Berkley alone in the bilges to reflect on what'd just happened.

…………………

Whether it was because of the solitude or the darkly lit atmosphere, Pintel couldn't be sure, but it'd become clear after nearly an hour of wrestling with Sparrow's compass that his cabin wasn't the place for dealing with something that required so much thought. That was why the stocky captain had decided to go out onto the bright and lively deck and try solving this riddle from behind the _Pearl_'s steering wheel.

Two hours later, this strategy was also proving to be rather useless.

"Stupid, lousy, stinkin' hunk of—"

When muttering didn't help, the bald fellow resorted to banging the device roughly against the steering wheel. Maybe a good old knock on the head was all that the idiot arrow needed to stop spinning. It was making _him_ feel better at any rate.

"I wouldn't do that. That compass is irreplaceable."

Pintel jumped and whipped his head around to the left. He sneered the minute he saw Windrick watching him from the quarterdeck stairs.

"And _I_ wouldn't open me trap so much!" he growled back. "You _are_ replaceable!" That said, he turned his attention back to the temperamental item.

The other man quietly lowered his head and remained seated on the top step. For once, he was submitting to the angry sailor's threats.

An entire minute passed before Windrick lifelessly spoke again. "Then why am I still here?"

Pintel snorted in frustration and glared back at his latest nuisance. "I can fix that if yeh're interested," he said sharply.

"It's not up to me what you decide to do with me," Windrick pointed out flatly. "It never was. I'm just curious why you've decided to keep me around for so long, especially after yesterday's election. Wouldn't a pirate captain want to remove his opposition as quickly as possible?"

Surprisingly, this earned a condescending chuckle from Pintel. "Nah. That ain't 'ow it works wif a pirate crew. We pick a cap'n t'steer the ship, we all gets fair share a' wot 'e finds, no one complains, an' everyone stays 'appy." He flashed a rotten, toothy grin and arched his brows. "Ain't that 'ow it works in the Navy?"

The rogue officer could tell when he was being mocked. "You'd know if you'd stayed long enough," he rebutted.

That wiped the smile clean off of Pintel's face. "Oi! I put in more'n enough time on that floatin' butcher house you called a ship!" He jabbed a warning finger towards Windrick just then. "And now that th'tables is turned and yeh're on _my_ ship, I wouldn't be bringin' that up so much. Aye?"

His opponent never faltered. "How long do you think it'll be your ship? Your crew couldn't have been too happy back when Sparrow was captain. Otherwise, he'd be the one standing behind that wheel today."

Even from a distance, Windrick could see the fiery light starting to flicker in Pintel's eyes. Well, well—he'd really hit a nerve with the old sea rat!

The _Black Pearl_'s captain was clutching the wheel with bone-white knuckles. He would've gladly seized that ugly git and given him the same treatment as Jack's compass if it weren't for that steering device.

"'Ave you got a deaf' wish?" the pirate demanded in a low snarl.

"Have _you?_"

That was when Windrick finally stood and strode up to Pintel. "You'll only be captain for as long as you keep these men happy. To do that, you have to find what they're all looking for. The only problem is that you don't know how to use that little tool to find it."

He stopped a few meters away from the fuming commander, giving this information a moment to sink in. Pintel's anger shifted to puzzlement, then squaring his jaw, he toyed with the compass. All the while, his burning gaze remained locked on the taller man's.

"Wot're you tryin' t'pull?"

"You despise everything I represent to you, and yet you can't bring yourself to kill me," Windrick pointed out coolly. "That's because in the back of your mind, you know I may still be useful for something. There may be a task that you can accomplish more easily with my help. Well this is it."

Pintel saw where this was going. "You wanna use the compass yerself?"

"I was looking for Sparrow too before you brought me aboard. I just wanted to find him for a different reason." The man took another step closer, driving his point home. "We're both a single wrong move away from being tossed over the rail. If you can't decide which way to point that arrow, I can set it straight for you. My thoughts aren't so cluttered."

It took a long time for Pintel to say anything. Windrick may have been a scoundrel, but he'd always been smart; how many other pirate ships had the distinction of going through three captains in just one day? The _Black Pearl_'s crew had left Sparrow behind on Tortuga at the first chance and mutinied against Barbossa not an hour later. Who was to say they wouldn't do it again at the drop of a hat?

Windrick patiently extended an open hand, all but reading the bald captain's thoughts. Pintel was still hesitant, absently winding his fingers in the compass's dangling leather strap as he debated.

Why couldn't he get the arrow to point straight? He wouldn't even be in this situation if he could just figure that out. Was there really something else he wanted to find besides Captain Jack right now? Did the compass only work for its rightful owner? Or was the darn thing working just fine until that bloody Windrick'd gotten his hands on it the first time?

The options whirled around Pintel as they multiplied. Take his chances and keep the compass, take his chances and give it to Windrick, or take his chances and let the other crewmen try getting it to worse. Then there was a fourth possibility: to simply throw the cursed thing overboard and take his chances without it. Any of those choices would put his position as captain at risk. The position that he'd spent the last five years wishing for…

At long last, the buccaneer made his decision. Taking in a slow, careful breath, Pintel lifted the compass by its strap…and reluctantly lowered it into Windrick's waiting palm.

"Mess this up," he grumbled, "and I _will_ decide wot t'do wif yeh."

--

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(Soon to be updated!)


	17. Surprise on Land

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel, Ragetti, or 90% of the other characters in this story.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

One of the first lessons that any pirate learned in his or her career was that unexpected things happened. Most of the sea rats involved in the business were batty to begin with, and although nearly all of the problems they caused could be solved with pistols and cutlasses, the smartest solution was usually to lie low and let the madness pass. Lunacy and brilliance were often the same thing in the world of piracy, and that was why not one crewmember on the _Black Pearl_ approached their captain when he suddenly veered the ship a full ninety degrees and set off in a completely opposite direction.

When an entire day passed with no destination in sight, however, a nip of curiosity started to set in.

"Was wonderin' exactly 'ow far out yeh plans to sail this way," Marty said as he eyed Pintel sharply. "We's only got enough food t'hold us down for a week."

"Keep yer britches up," the taller man grunted without looking at him. He turned the steering wheel idly. "We're gettin' close t'land."

Marty wrinkled his brow and glanced around. There was nothing to see beyond the vessel's rails but the night's pitch-blackness. "'Ow can you tell?"

Pintel's gaze wavered slightly as he waited for Windrick to answer for him. The former officer was pretending to untie a set of rigging behind him, but when he failed to say anything, Pintel frowned and pulled his best bluff.

He smiled at the other buccaneer with smug amusement. "…'Ow many years yeh been sailin,' mate?"

"Ten."

"Well take it from a gent who's been sailin' longer. We're gettin' close."

The pint-sized pirate was far from content, but he could tell he wasn't going to get anything else out of the captain. With a flash of his ugliest parting scowl, Marty turned and stormed back down to the main deck to relay this information. Once the little runt was out of earshot, Pintel addressed Windrick.

"Are we getting' close?" he asked without turning around.

"Look at the water," the other replied.

Pintel paused and took a hesitant step towards the port rail. Sure enough, he could just make out the dark silhouette of a log drifting past as he peeked over the side. They were getting very close.

Meanwhile, Windrick tied off a rope line and secretly flipped open the compass. The red arrow was steady enough to have been tacked in place, though its position had shifted slightly since the last time he'd looked at it.

"…We need to turn," he reported a bit more urgently than before. "It's only a few degrees starboard."

Pintel quickly returned to the wheel and adjusted their course. "Slacken the sails, lads!" he shouted to the crew. "Loosen 'em up on the port side!" Then to Windrick, he asked, "Where're we 'eaded for?"

"An island, I think. We're just south of the straights. There should be a chain of them nearby."

"I needs sumfin' a little more failsafe than 'should,' chum."

"It's there," the captive said more confidently. "_He's_ there."

"Lookouts!" Pintel hollered up to the crow's nest. "Wot d'yeh sees?"

Huddled on either side of a fading lantern, Murtogg and Mullroy were anxiously taking turns with their spyglass. "We don't see anything, Captain!" Mullroy shouted back down from the towering platform.

"Gimme an update every minute," Pintel barked, "or I'll cut off all the ratlines around yeh!"

The duo stared down at the rope ladders around them. "You think he'd do it?" Murtogg asked.

Mullroy frantically shoved the spyglass into his hands without answering. It was best not to find out.

By that time, the commotion had caught the rest of the crew's attention. Marty was already making his way back to the quarterdeck with Cotton in toe, and a dozen others were watching Pintel and murmuring about what'd gotten the old coot in such an uproar.

The captain pointed at Marty before the little man could ask another question. "You! Bof' of you, get a fathom line and gimme a deapf' readin'."

As soon as Marty and Cotton were off, Pintel turned his sights on the rest of his followers. "Lanterns! Light every lantern on board! We need t'see where we's goin'!"

"But we threw almost all of 'em overboard when we was runnin' from the _Prowess_," a black-haired fellow named Grizzo reminded him.

That stopped their stocky leader in mid-thought. Oh yeah.

"…Do we 'ave anyfin' else?"

"Well, there's some planks b'low deck what could be burned for torches."

Pintel dully waved him away. "Fine."

Grizzo grinned and disappeared below deck with a handful of others in toe. A second later, it turned out that they didn't need torches at all.

"LAND!"

Pintel's head snapped up as soon as he heard Murtogg shrieking. All he could see was the young crewman's face sticking out over the edge of the crow's nest.

"There's land straight ahead!" the lookout shouted again.

"We can see lights from here!" Mullroy added.

Every pirate on deck turned to gaze forward. The pair were right; just a few hundred meters past the _Pearl_'s figurehead, a mountainous shape with a faint orange outline could be seen.

Near the helm of the ship, Marty also gave his report. "Twenty-six fathoms! …Twenty-four fathoms!" On the seabed below, the depth line's tiny anchor was churning up a cloud of sand as it was dragged along.

Cotton watched as each colored rag on the rope—length markers—began to emerge from the water, then lifted his head to oggle at the fiery glow ahead. Just the sight of it made him antsy, so much so that he prompted a loud "Steady, boys!" from his parrot.

Back at the wheel, Pintel glanced stiffly back at Windrick.

"We're gettin' close!" he shouted again.

…………………

It felt like ages since the last time Ragetti'd been above deck. Between his alienation around Pintel and Charlotte and his general awkwardness around Murtogg and Mullroy, he simply couldn't bring himself to step outside again. Besides, there was more than enough work to do on the vessel's lower levels, and so the thin sailor'd spent the past twenty-four hours mopping floors and scrubbing cannons. Now was the time when he needed his busy distractions the most, but even someone as miserable as he was had to stop and rest eventually. Because of this tragic fact, Ragetti was currently slumped back in his hammock and studying his carving block.

To him, the wooden figure was hypnotic; it drew his eye to it, kept him focused on it, and somehow made him forget all about his sorrow. In fact, he seemed to forget about everything when he gazed deep into that grainy surface. It erased his sadness, but it didn't replace it with happiness—just numbness.

Did carvings do this to everyone? Ragetti couldn't imagine why they wouldn't, even though he couldn't guess for the life of him why a piece of wood was so compelling to begin with. It just was, and that was enough for him.

The whelp placed the half-finished block on his lap just then, breaking the spell. Instead, he stared blankly ahead in thought.

Maybe Captain Brackens hadn't been so daft after all.

Before anything else could wander through his woeful mind, a chorus of pounding feet sounded out and a cluster of other pirates came barging into the room. Ragetti turned his head to gawk at the sudden commotion, already feeling a pang of his gloom seeping back in.

Torange slapped him roughly on the knee as he ran past the hammock. "Rise an' shine, lad."

Ragetti sat up with a start. "Why? What's goin' on?"

As if on cue, a sharp jolt rocked the ship and nearly knocked him to the floor. Grizzo chuckled to himself as he and the rest of the rowdy bunch floundered to stay on their feet. Once the disturbance was over, Torange met Ragetti's eye slyly.

"We be makin' a rest stop."

A second tremor made the lanky youth gasp and jump out of his hammock. Before dashing off to help his fellows, however, he grabbed his wood carving and reluctantly stuffed it back into his pocket. The reminiscing could wait until later.

…………………

It hadn't taken long for the _Black Pearl_'s crew to drop anchor after they'd spotted the island—in fact, they'd almost beached the ship on a sandbar before they'd even had the chance to use one of the anchors. The water was treacherously shallow in this area, and the only way left to cross that final barrier was by longboat. Unfortunately, only two of the tiny transports had still been seaworthy, and so Pintel'd been forced to heavily weigh his priorities while choosing a venture group.

The final choice hadn't sat well with most of the crew: nine men to a boat, including the short-statured Marty, the old mute Cotton, and that slimy "pirate chaser" Windrick. When the others had voiced their objections, Pintel'd explained that it only made sense to bring the most reliable _and_ most expendable crewmen along on an errand like this. Also, anyone with further complaints could personally take them up with Jack Sparrow in a few hours.

Ragetti hadn't so much as volunteered to leave on one of the longboats. Doing so would've meant facing Pintel again, and the one-eyed deckhand simply didn't have the stomach for it. If nothing else, he took comfort in knowing that at least one part of his problem might be over soon. Pintel'd sounded confident that Captain Jack was waiting on that island, and if that proved to be true, then the _Black Pearl_ would have her rightful commander back by tomorrow. They would all make peace with the leader they'd deserted so long ago, and Pintel could go back to being a safe, unimportant gunner again.

That _was_ what Ragetti wanted, after all.

Ten minutes after the boats had left, the tall pirate found himself sitting warily back against the rail on the main deck. A short distance away, Murtogg spotted him and approached his estranged friend.

"How's it been, mate?" he asked quietly.

Ragetti felt the hairs stand up on his neck. Already, the idea of someone speaking to him so personally was becoming foreign. It took him a moment to reply after he looked up at Murtogg. "Been stayin' busy."

The younger man nodded. "Well…that's good."

Ragetti just stared. Murtogg was obviously being earnest, but he sounded uneasy, almost like he was trying too hard to sound cheerful. It was right then that Ragetti noticed something else. Something that deeply troubled him more than it confused him.

"Why're yeh standin' so far away from me?" When the other failed to answer, he continued. "I don't bite!"

He forced his own grin then, but Murtogg could see how much that lean face was twitching behind the disguise. Ragetti looked more like some half-rabid animal than a human in that hunching position, a far cry from the funny and charming know-it-all he used to be. Pintel's desertion had left a scar on him, and that scar had made him completely unrecognizable.

Joseph Murtogg could barely nod at his faded comrade. "…I know, Ragetti. I know." Even now, he didn't have the strength to pull off such a simple lie.

The two would've gone their separate ways at that point, but a shout from the opposite rail cut their dreariness short.

"Oi! Oi, there's another ship!" It was Mullroy's voice.

A nearby crewman turned around to follow his pointing finger. "It ain't a ship," he grunted offhandedly. "Who the blazes else'd be out 'ere t'night?"

"It _is_ a ship," Mullroy insisted curtly. "It's got two-masts with white sails and it's right over there."

"Lemme see," a third pirate joined in. Before long, an entire squabbling crowd was massed together on that side of the vessel.

Ragetti and Murtogg were both standing on their toes at the back of the hoard. Off to their left, Charlotte was also attempting this useless strategy. The most any of them could see was the back of four-dozen bustling and arguing heads.

"Is that it there?" someone asked from the middle of the swarm.

"What kinda' ship is 'at?"

"What's it doin' here?"

"Don't even look like it's movin'!"

"What is it?" Charlotte called to the front of the swarm. "Where's the ship? For bloody Pete's sake, let me through!" But her shouts went ignored by the men in front of her.

The woman frowned and stepped back. Talking wasn't going to get her anywhere with this lot. She scanned the crowd up and down in search of another solution, and then her eyes came to rest on it. Just meters away, Murtogg's spyglass dangled invitingly from his belt, and he was too busy staring ahead to notice her.

Charlotte didn't need any more of a hint. She crept over to the unsuspecting youth without a word, glanced up for safe measure, then snatched the tool away. Clutching her stolen prize, she tipped her tri-corner hat to the lad and strode off to the ratlines behind her.

She was about to have the best view in the house.

…………………

Pintel was starting to lose his nerve.

The boat ride itself wasn't unnerving—the tide practically carried them to shore in less than ten minutes—but the suspicious looks from his companions had stirred up some unsettling thoughts along the way. None of the chaps in this group looked fully convinced by what he'd told them on the _Pearl_, and he would've only lost more of their trust if he turned to Windrick for help. The fact that nobody'd even asked how the captain knew Sparrow was on that island was unsettling enough; silence meant the others were all thinking something, and there was a slim chance that it was anything good.

Pintel'd managed to convince himself that his problems would be over once Jack stepped in and took command again, but at the same time, this bothered him even more. What would he do after that? Go back to mopping floors? He'd saved the _Black Pearl_ from a Naval attack and been elected captain in a landslide! How could he let Jack Sparrow turn him back into a nobody after that?

"Darrows an' Yorker stay wif th'boats," he ordered when they reached shore. "Rest of us keep walkin'."

The group was in the process of hauling their longboats out of the water when he said this. An empty beach stretched out on wither side of them, and a sinister looking jungle lay directly ahead. Seeing their options, Windrick stealthily turned his back to the pirates and checked the compass again.

"Which way we be goin', Cap'tin?" Torange asked as he shouldered his baldric.

Pintel's face went blank at this question. He hadn't the slightest idea. Luckily, Windrick did.

The uniformed man pointed idly towards the trees. "Will we be going in there?"

It took a few seconds for Pintel to realize he was actually being dropped a hint. "…_Of_ _COURSE_ _we is!_" he blasted just then, playing along. "_Now shut it b'fore we makes yeh_ _MORE_ _expendable!_"

Windrick gave him a curt nod and dawned a degraded expression. Once Darrows and Yorker took their seats next to the beached longboats, Pintel, Marty, Cotton, and the rest of their team turned and set off towards the ominous foliage.

The trek through the jungle was more challenging than it looked. The sixteen men only had one lantern to share between them, and so they made their way along in a tightly huddled pack with Cotton at the front with the light. Even then, it was a hazardous hike; the trees in front of them didn't appear until the travelers were nearly on top of them, and every root, branch, and rock in their path seemed to swing up and trip them as they passed over. The sounds of crickets chirping and bat wings flapping added the perfect touch of eeriness to this already wretched situation.

"Why would Sparrow be hangin' around a place like this?" Adler asked no one in particular. His bulging eyes were riveted to the branches above him.

Demetri the Greek wasn't so skittish. "Maybe he like place that doesn't charge for docking boats."

"Keep it down, lads," Pintel cut in tensely. "Don't know wot else is in 'ere."

Marty scoffed from the back of the huddle. "This from the one screamin' his lungs out a minute ago."

"All th'more reason t'be quiet now!"

"Well what are we doing in here anyway?" Marty demanded.

He got his answer a heartbeat later, but not from Pintel.

"That's a funny question!" a strange voice suddenly called from the shadows. "I was starting to wonder the same thing!"

No sooner had the speaker said this than his own lantern flashed on off to the group's right. To their surprise, they were greeted by the sight of a young Englishman in a dark blue uniform.

A Naval lieutenant's uniform.

The pirates were too dumbstruck to go any further. The lieutenant paused to admire their shocked faces, then called for his followers to reveal themselves as well. In a matter of seconds, the entire scene was blazing with light, then the distinct click of pistols being cocked was heard. The instant they recognized that bone-chilling sound, Pintel and his men went rigid and raised their hands, letting their pitiful lantern clatter to the ground. They were surrounded.

_Click._

Pintel froze. Another pistol had just been cocked directly behind him, and in the back of his unbelieving head, he knew exactly who was aiming it. Slowly, he turned around to give the man a cold leer.

"You backstabbin' bastard."

Windrick didn't flinch. "Think of me as another pirate."

--

………………………………………………………………………………….

(Soon to be updated! Author's promise!)


	18. Unlikely Helpers

(Disclaimer: not mine, sadly.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

"_Grsh!_"

Charlotte grunted with effort as she hoisted herself up the ratlines. For someone who worked so closely with these crazy rope lines, she was pretty graceless at climbing them.

She stopped momentarily to glance back at the other crewmen far below her. So far, they were all still crowding together like aimless cattle to look over the starboard rail. No sign of progress whatsoever.

Scoffing to herself, the woman sucked in a deep breath and finally lifted herself up onto the platform of the crow's nest. Now she could get some answers.

Just as she reached her goal, however, Grizzo came up with his own idea on deck.

"_Comin'_ 'trough! _Move aside,_ mates!" he droned brightly. He was working his way towards the front of the swarm and giddily wielding one of the makeshift torches he'd been sent to find earlier. Not surprisingly, his fellow crewmen granted him swift passage when they caught side of the flaming accessory. After a minute of wading, he nudged in between Mullroy and Friskin and held out his guiding light.

"This'll clear fings up!"

Every man around him leaned precariously over the rail to see. Now the other ship's white sails were even brighter against the night sky. "Anyone got a glass?" Mullroy asked, realizing Murtogg still had theirs.

Friskin sparked to life and retrieved the one hanging from his belt. "Aye! Forgot all 'bout the stinkin' thing!" He pulled the tool open and held it up for a glimpse.

Mullroy watched him with baited breath. "What kinda ship is it?"

"She's a brig," the older sailor mused. "Fast lit'l buggers, 'ey are. Looks like this one's loaded fer crew." He could just make out the shapes of several dozen men zipping back and forth on the vessel's decks.

"Brig?" Mullroy echoed in awe. "But that's a…"

He fell silent and urgently swiped the spyglass from Friskin, preferring to see the other ship for himself. There was one particular thing that the former soldier was looking for, and he didn't want to start an uproar by mentioning it out loud. Squinting into the narrow wooden tube, he leaned back and pointed the device up towards the mystery vessel's flag. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

"Oh, no…" Mullroy swallowed hard. "She's flying Navy colors."

A wave of gasps and confused murmurs rippled back through the crew as soon as his words were out. Friskin gazed back and forth from him and the other ship in disbelief.

"You're bloomin' jokin'," he said breathlessy.

It wasn't over yet. Mullroy tilted the spyglass downward with dread to see the body of the vessel. There, painted in dark gold letters above the stern windows, was the barely visible name of the Naval transport.

The young man nearly dropped the instrument as he jumped back. His face was pale with fright.

"What is it?" Grizzo asked after a tense glance.

The other ship gave a reply before Mullroy could.

_BOOM!_

The _Black Pearl_'s crew was only lucky that their attacker's vessel was positioned slightly ahead of them; rather than hitting the pirate ship directly, the cannonball collided with the very nose of its bow. The force of the impact was strong enough to move the _Pearl_, however slightly, and the black-sailed behemoth pivoted as its anchor held it in place. This sudden shift only made the men on deck wobble to keep their balance, but from a place as high as the crow's nest, it felt like the entire ship was going to tip over.

Charlotte let out a terrified yelp as she swayed forward. Her legs buckled underneath her, then after a frantic second of wind-milling her arms, she was able to latch onto the mast and secure herself. Murtogg's spyglass rolled lazily across the wooden platform where she'd dropped it.

Mullroy finally blurted out what he'd read then. "It's the _Prowess_!"

Like magic, the crew was suddenly horrified. Grizzo yipped and dropped his torch overboard as he recoiled. Screams and curses erupted behind him as the hoards broke up and scurried to their stations.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Murtogg gasped.

Ragetti stared anxiously at him then. Under any other circumstance, he would've commented on such a blasphemous exclamation, but once Mullroy's words sank in, he forgot all about his sensitive new beliefs. The _Prowess _was back. Windrick's old ship was back. And Pintel was with that lying stupid blighter.

His single eye flew to the island's orange glow the instant he finished his last horrible thought. "Pinters!"

_BOOM!_

He felt another frightening jolt as the _Pearl_ was struck again, this time right above the quarterdeck. High overhead, Charlotte felt her own amplified version of the impact.

"Gaaah!"

She could hear her teeth rattling in her head as she was jerked back and forth. Murtogg's spyglass came tumbling past the mast, but when she tried to reach out and grab it, another shudder from below sent her toppling face-first onto the platform. The only thing keeping Charlotte on the crow's nest now was her own sense of balance, and her stolen gadget chillingly demonstrated what would happen to her if she rolled the wrong way.

_Smash!_

Ragetti didn't even see the spyglass coming until it erupted in splinters and glass shards on the deck in front of him. He staggered back in blind shock and impulsively looked up to see where the makeshift bomb had fallen from. He was even more shocked when he found the answer.

There was Charlotte, barely visible as she scrambled away from the edge of the crow's nest like a panicked crab. She seemed content to stay put up there instead of risking the long climb down. Ragetti glanced around at the rest of his crewmates for some sort of advice, but it was obvious that none of them were focused enough to notice the situation unfolding above them.

The bony pirate gulped, then with a last fearful gaze at the island, he began his own ascent.

…………………

It'd been a trap.

Pintel could feel a pit of dread growing in his gut. All along, Windrick had been planning a trap. Running for captain, offering to help with the compass…it'd all been a ruse to keep him on his old crew's original course to this very island!

But as sickening as this was, it was another thought that made Pintel sick to his stomach. He'd been right about Windrick from the beginning, and yet he'd still been played right into that stunted sot's hands. How could he have not seen this _coming?_

"Move them out!" Windrick barked from the front of the assembly.

Pintel snapped his head around when he felt a pistol barrel jab between his shoulder blades. "Keep that bloody fing offa' me!"

The soldier behind him responded by jamming the barrel even harder into his back. That old sea rat was nothing but an angry windbag when his weapons were confiscated.

Captain Pintel wasn't the only one being prodded like a goat; a short distance ahead, Torange and Adler both had a sharp musket bayonet pricking their shoulders from behind. Demetri, Brambles, and Blue Gill were all being shoved and dragged along by hand, and the uncooperative Marty was practically being carried by his captors. All seventeen pirates had their arms raised for this humiliating march, each too afraid of those waiting firearms to hide his hands.

Near the back of the herd trudged Cotton, who was staring at everything except the lieutenant flintlock pointed towards his head. The mute sailor couldn't understand it for the life of him, but somewhere in the darkest little corner of his mind, he felt that he recognized this island. It didn't_ look_ familiar—he couldn't see so much as a leaf in this darkness—and the animals chattering around him were making the same racket heard on every scrap of land from here to Barbados. This should've just been another island to him, but for some reason, just being here doubled the anxiety he was already feeling.

_An island south of the straights… _

Cotton would've pondered this longer, but at that moment, something beside the caravan of prisoners caught his parrot's ear. The bird twirled to the right on his shoulder and cocked its head, perplexed. Something odd had to have gotten its attention. A second later, it turned to face something behind its owner, then abruptly spread its wings and sprang into the air.

The lieutenant behind Cotton snarled and started to raise his pistol. "Stupid pigeon—"

"Let it go!" Windrick snapped, hearing the commotion. "Save your ammunition!"

A rustle in the branches overhead reassured Cotton that his pet had found a new perch. The soldier behind him scowled up at the parrot.

"Probably not even good enough for roasting," he mumbled.

As if it understood him, the bird replied, "_Awk! Don't eat me!_"

And then it dawned on Cotton.

He nearly introduced his face to the ground from the shock. It couldn't be…

There was only one way to find out. A younger pirate called Nich was slogging along on Cotton's left, and the soldier behind the lad was wickedly aiming a musket at the back of his scrawny neck. There wasn't anything but trees on Nich's left.

Cotton nervously arched his eyebrows and observed the rest of his captured fellows. What the devil. They had nothing to lose.

Keeping up his resigned appearance, the grizzled buccaneer glanced down at his feet, cringed, then dove to his left. His fingers immediately clamped onto the musket aimed at Nich, and before either soldier could stop him, he shoved its long barrel towards the trees and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The sound of the piercing shot hung in the air. Cotton's clumsy momentum sent him toppling to the ground, and the rest of the men—pirate and soldier alike—stopped and spun around to see those two captors in the back rush to restrain him.

"You sneaking git!" the soldier behind Nich shouted down. "I'll skewer you alive for that!"

Marty thrashed even harder when he heard the threat. His angry struggle was useless, but luckily, Cotton's loud distress signal had earned plenty of attention.

"Ganecoco!"

The soldier and the lieutenant straightened up at the sound of the call. It was faint, but it wasn't far away.

"Ganecoco! Nona susu!"

The lieutenant glared hotly at Cotton, but instead of fear, the buccaneer met his eye with an ear-to-ear grin. And then the scruffy mute opened his mouth and let out a silent, hissing cackle of triumph.

Disgust appeared on the officer's face right before he aimed his pistol…

_FWIT! _

Cotton flinched, bracing for the worst, but when he didn't hear a gunshot, he opened his eyes eagerly. By then, the lieutenant had already fallen into an unconscious heap next to him. The long wooden dart jugging from the man's neck was a clear explanation.

Marty wasn't feeling so rebellious anymore. "Uh oh."

"AAAAAAAAAHH!!"

That was when the shooter and his company leapt out of the shadows.

It all happened in a flash. A dozen shrieking demons came tearing into view, spears and clubs glinted in the lantern light, and before they knew what hit them, half of the soldiers and pirates were knocked to the forest floor.

Pintel was one of the first to go down. One of those swinging club heads hit him square in the chest and sent him reeling in winded agony. In his disoriented state, he plowed backwards into the very soldier who'd been escorting him, making them both topple over. When the bald captain hit the ground, everything started spinning.

_Pirates…soldiers…pirates…soldiers…_

It was all running together in Pintel's head now. Were these attackers more Navy men? Were they part of another buccaneer crew? Were they part of _his_ crew? Men were scattering in a panic everywhere he looked. Which ones were on his side and which ones were the attackers? Or were the attackers on his side too? Every man in sight could've been a friend or an enemy at that moment, and Pintel suddenly didn't know which ones to turn to. His smoldering green eyes scanned the throng in confusion, desperately seeking an answer.

One of the mystery attackers swung his spear at Marty's escort, who promptly released his captive to defend himself. The tiny swashbuckler hit the earth with his feet peddling, not daring to glance back at the soldier's falling corpse. His victim dispatched, the assailant then darted into a patch of light that revealed the green and white paint smeared across his face. The sharp monkey bone jutting through his nostrils only made him even more terrifying.

Marty wove his way through the maze of running legs and reached Cotton at last. "Good thinkin'!" he shouted over the surrounding din. "Now what?"

An instant later, Windrick remembered that he had a pistol.

BANG!

The attacker with the green and white paint was no better off than his last victim then.

Cotton and Marty traded a single wide-eyed stare and took off. One capture by the Pelegostos was plenty for both of them.

--

………………………………………………………………………………….

(Soon to be updated! Author's promise!)


	19. Rescue and Revenge

(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, not to me.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Ragetti was dealing with his own peril back on the _Pearl_. Scaling the ropes was no feat for him, but the higher he went, the more nauseating the ship's rocking was starting to feel. The pirate vessel was turning itself completely around to make its escape, and as dizzying as that was, the anchor being reeled in had the entire transport bobbing like a cork. By the time he reached the crow's nest, Ragetti was swaying worse than a drunkard.

He reached his arm up over the side without looking. "Oi! Over 'ere! Take me 'and!"

Charlotte jerked back in surprise and gawked at his flailing arm. "What?!"

"Take it! I'll 'elp yeh down!"

"Are you mad?!" she hollered back. "We're both stuck up here now! How're you gonna get down?"

"Same way I got up, only backwards! It's faster goin' down than up!"

"That's because we'll FALL most of the way!"

"Just take it!" Ragetti yelled, exasperated. He didn't know how much longer he could stay in this position.

Charlotte must've heard the panic in his voice, because after a moment, Ragetti felt her fingers wrap around his. He tightened his grip as well, and the dark-haired woman appeared over the side of the platform a second later. She carefully lowered herself beside her awkward rescuer, then once she found her footing, the two began their long climb down.

Below them, the _Prowess_'s cannons continued firing.

BOOM! BOOM!

Both shots connected perfectly with their target, causing the _Pearl_ to tilt again. Ragetti and Charlotte quickly stopped to let the disturbance pass.

"What's going on down there?" the girl asked flatly.

"They're turnin' th'ship around," Ragetti mumbled. "Tryin' t'avoid all them rocks and sandbars while we're runnin' away, I guess."

Charlotte tensely watched her fellow crewmen. Friskin had taken up the wheel for now, and from the looks of things, there was nobody in particular giving the orders; the men all seemed oddly in sync with their getaway strategy.

She snapped back to attention and focused on her own situation. "Come on, let's go." Ragetti eagerly complied.

The pair wasted no time in their descent. They were already halfway down to the deck and picking up their pace, grateful that their backs were turned to the _Prowess_ right now. Charlotte's hand was clamped firmly onto Ragetti's arm, but the suspense of the moment kept him from enjoying this—the only thing he could concentrate on was getting off of this shaky rope ladder as soon as possible.

And that was when he got what he wanted.

BOOM!

Neither of them saw the danger coming. The shot flew straight at the rotating _Pearl_'s starboard rail, easily smashing through the wooden barrier and snapping half the ratlines' bases free. Part of that tall netlike structure swung loose, and Ragetti and Charlotte screamed as they were dragged with it.

"_AAAAAAAAHH!!_"

The rest of the bases held tight, keeping the structure from falling away completely. However, the result of this was a fierce whiplash that Charlotte's grip couldn't compete with. She slipped right off of the rungs…but her death hold on Ragetti's arm only tightened. The lanky fellow pawed uselessly at the air as he was yanked off the ropes in turn.

And then, a miracle.

_SPLASH!_

Charlotte suddenly felt herself engulfed in coldness. Something salty stung at her eyes, but when she opened her mouth to shout, nothing but a cloud of bubbles spewed out. The realization hit her just then: she was under water! They'd landed in the _water!_ She and Ragetti had missed the deck and managed to—

Where was Ragetti?

Charlotte kicked her way to the surface and anxiously looked around. The young man was nowhere in sight.

"Ragetti!" No answer. "_Ragetti!_"

She turned and gawked up at the _Black Pearl_ just then. The infamous ship was towering over her, but even in this darkness, she could make out the row cannon portals on its side. Those tiny square windows were only half as high as the rail, and the gents on board had an ounce of common sense, they'd be somebody loading their iron weapons behind them…

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US! HELP!" She was splashing up a halo of foam around herself in an attempt to be heard.

Little did Charlotte know, Ragetti was sinking like a rock directly below her. His bony arms and legs were churning like mad in the water, but this panicky effort didn't seem to be getting him anywhere. Was he paddling upside-down? He started spinning and twisting himself around, blind and confused. Which way was up?!

_He couldn't breathe!_

It was right then that Ragetti sensed something moving inside one of his coat pockets. He ceased his struggling for a moment, then felt the mystery item slip out. His hands instinctively lashed out and grabbed hold of it, and that was when he discovered what it was.

His wood carving! The clever little thing was trying to escape and float to the surface! An immense wave of joy swept over Ragetti at this revelation. He'd found a heading!

Suddenly at ease, the pirate righted his position and squinted up at the water's surface. Tiny wisps of light from the cannon fire shown through that murkiness, and the screaming and shooting that filled his ears before was strangely muted down here. Despite his peril, Ragetti couldn't help but be fascinated by it. Sea battles didn't look so bad from below either.

Pintel would've liked seeing this.

In the end though, the thoughtful moment was short-lived. Immediately after he'd finished his final thought, Ragetti felt something blunt ram into his back—hard. A muddled cry of shock escaped from the one-eyed pirate's mouth as he resumed his thrashing, and his squeal was answered with a passing tail fin to the head. This second blow only made him flounder more. Something else was down here. _Something else was down here!!_

Ahead of him, the shark swiftly maneuvered itself around to face its prey. Now that it knew what that awkward sinewy creature was, it was ready to strike.

Ragetti screamed again as a ring of jagged white teeth rushed towards him…

Fwoosh!

It was all over in a heartbeat. As quickly as it'd lunged, the shark turned its head and veered away, propelled by a sudden current in the water. The same strange force blasted against the frightened pirate then, somersaulting him and tossing him away. Then he started drifting lazily to the surface.

Ragetti was still scanning that shadowy scene for the shark. What the blazes was going on? The giant fish couldn't have lost his appetite_ that_ fast!

He never had a chance to dwell on this lucky break; at that instant, something long and narrow thumped against his back, making him spin around. It was a rope, and the breathless crewman gladly latched onto it.

A second later, he emerged coughing and spluttering. Charlotte let out a heavy sigh of relief beside him, then cued Murtogg and Mullroy to haul them up through the porthole. She turned to Ragetti with a final word.

"Hang on tight. This isn't over yet."

…………………

More men were coming.

Pintel stumbled through a patch of ferns and dove out of sight behind a nearby tree trunk. More of those painted little sots were coming. Blimey, there must've been a million of them crawling around on this island! Everywhere the old captain looked, he saw somebody fighting or running. Soldiers, pirates, wild men…he was utterly surrounded by them, and they were all mashed together in a confused jumble in his head.

Who was he with? Pintel knew full well that he was a pirate, but did that mean he was with _these_ pirates? His bulging green eyes swung left and right in search of a hint. A pirate and a soldier were locked in a sword duel off to his left, viciously swiping strips of bark off of the trees around them. To his right, an Asian buccaneer with a long beard charged past, only to be ambushed by two wild men as they jumped from the branches above.

It was baffling; this island, these shrieking natives, this whole scene…Pintel could've sworn he'd seen it all before. He just couldn't figure out when.

A gleam of metal caught the bald man's eye just ahead. He easily—and rather blissfully—recognized it as a pistol, and after warily edging forward, he managed to snag the deserted weapon with his boot. Pintel kept low as he brought the gun closer to inspect it. Both of its twin barrels were cocked, but he was relieved to see that neither one had been fired. It would do nicely.

Pintel lifted his head with a hopeful grin, and that was when something else grabbed his attention further ahead. There was a clearing just beyond the trees, perhaps the edge of the jungle, and the captain could just make out a handful of tiny black silhouettes darting around in it. They weren't fighting each other—these figures seemed to be swarming around another, much larger object instead. Squinting harder, Pintel realized that it wasn't one large object, but in fact two.

And then it dawned on him. Two boats. They were a pair of longboats, and all those swarming figures were pirates frantically trying to escape in them.

It was all coming back to Pintel now. A settlement in Cuba, a fortress full of pirates, a black case…and a towering Scotsman with the eyes of a devil.

The realization sent Pintel flying back to his tree with a terrified squeak. Pilón! That's what this place was! He was on Pilón with the _Glass Urchin_'s crew! And now Scarborough's men were after them! He was _with_ pirates _and_ being chased by them!

The stocky crewman pressed his back flat up against his wooden barrier. All he had to do was avoid anyone he didn't recognize.

A suspenseful minute passed, then a jumpy Marty and Cotton finally spotted their leader in his makeshift refuge. "Cap'n!!" the smaller man shouted. "We've lost three crewmen! We gotta make for the boats—"

BANG!

Wood chips sprayed sharply from the tree beside them, making the duo drop in terror. Marty and Cotton stared at their commander in total disbelief. Did he just try to _shoot _them?

Pintel turned and fired at Torange then, missing his dreadlocked head by mere centimeters. The captain was up and running before his startled gunner even stumbled to his knees. Every pirate in sight was an enemy in Pintel's mind, and his only hope was that he survived them all long enough to make it to those longboats.

A dead soldier with a saber in one hand lay in his path; he clumsily slowed down and snatched the bloodstained sword as he passed. The jungle's edge was growing closer. _Closer…_

But even in his dash to freedom, Pintel managed to notice one more thing. A pack of five wild men came tearing through the scene, and seeing them, another soldier fell to the ground in his best possum impression. The stocky pirate did likewise, hiding himself in plain sight, then shifted his eyes up to watch the soldier spring back to life once the howling mob was gone. It was then that he noticed the other man's unusual uniform—not just a soldier's, but a Naval captain's.

All of a sudden, Pintel recognized somebody.

A sneer formed on his scruffy face as he staggered to his feet. That fiery rage that'd kept him alive for sixty-five years was pushing his fear aside and taking control once again, and Robert Pintel threw himself after his newest target more hungrily than any Pelegosto.

He knew exactly who he was against now.

…………………

Charlotte had never looked so cross. "We can't just run away from them!"

"I begs t'differ," Grizzo refuted idly behind her.

"They've already outrun us once, and that was BEFORE the _Navigator_ blew us half to pieces!"

"If yeh 'as a be'er idea, now be the time t'share it," Friskin grunted as he turned the wheel. The _Black Pearl_'s anchor had been reeled in along with its two overboard crewmembers, and now the jittery band of buccaneers was intent on high-tailing their ship to safety in the opposite direction. All except one.

"I DO have a better idea!" Charlotte snapped. "We should disable the _Prowess_! Swing ourselves around and force her up onto the sandbar! She'll never sail again!"

"If they land any more 'its, _we'll_ never sail again," was the whiskered man's blunt reply.

"Look, it's the middle of the night and our sails are black. There's no way they'll be able to see us coming!"

Friskin laughed dryly and shook his head. "It ain't that simple, lass."

The woman would've hurled both fists at his nose right then, but Ragetti anxiously jumped in to end the dispute. "No no, she's right. I seen it done b'fore. Yeh just 'as teh douse the lights."

The older fellow blinked at him. "…Douse the lights?" he echoed, testing the sound of the idea.

Ragetti bobbed his head rapidly. He also wanted the _Pearl_ to turn around, or else Pintel would never get off of that island. "Aye. Blend in. Disappear. Won't sees us 'til we're right on top of 'em."

Friskin paused to picture this amusing scenario, then sent Charlotte a mischievous smirk. "Force 'er onto the sandbar, aye?"

She met his gaze coolly. Right then, shouts rose up from the rest of the crew.

"Slack the mast lines! Run out the sweeps! Keep us movin' straight!"

"No!" Friskin hollered back at the chattering bunch. "Not straight! They'll pull right alongside an' board us if we stay on course! Shut up, the lotta' ya!"

Surprisingly enough, the crew did. Friskin grinned again and glanced expectantly at Charlotte. In turn, the woman glowered back at Grizzo. "Tell them to get rid of the torches."

Unaware of this blossoming ploy, the _Prowess_ continued with its current strategy.

"Keep us perpendicular to them!" a sergeant ordered as he strode down the main deck. "As long as one side faces the _Pearl_, we can shoot at it! Wait until they're disabled to pursue!"

"Sir!" a gunner stationed by the rail shouted to him. "The target's slowing down!" The two men at the next cannon squinted suspiciously at the retreating vessel.

The sergeant stopped to briefly study the other ship as well. Indeed, it had slowed its pace. "They must be losing control. Resume firing, lads! It's paying off!"

He turned to resume his march down the deck. However, he barely took another step before one of the other gunners partner spoke up.

"Sergeant!" the young soldier piped. "The _Black Pearl_…it's vanished!"

"Nonsense," the officer scoffed, storming up to their cannon. "The smoke's probably just clouding things up." He leaned over the rail a bit to search for the vessel himself, but to his own disbelief, there was nothing there to spot. Puzzlement registered on the sergeant's face. There wasn't a trace of the pirate ship left! Not even so much as a flicker of light!

Despite his confusion, the officer maintained his composure. "Fire a shot straight ahead and see if it hits," he commanded the two gunners. The pair traded unsure looks before the more outspoken member touched his lighting wand to the wick.

BOOM!

The _Prowess_'s crew waited tensely for some sign of an impact, but only heard a splash as the wasted cannonball landed in the surf. Not a word was spoken.

The sergeant straightened up carefully and listened. Somewhere in that blackness, he could still faintly hear something splashing.

"…More light. Bring out more lanterns."

A nearby corporal nodded stiffly and relayed the order to the crewmen below deck, stirring up murmurs throughout the ship. Within minutes, every lantern on board was lit and held out to aid the investigation. Soldiers on deck lifted their flickering beacons above the rail while their comrades on the lower levels reached out through the side firing portals, all determined to find their quarry and be done with their simple attack.

Unfortunately, this only made it easier for the _Black Pearl_ to see the _Prowess_.

_Splash…splash…splash…_

And then the elusive pirate ship reappeared. The _Pearl_'s figurehead was the first thing to emerge from the darkness, and the minute their lantern lights shined on the wooden statue, the Naval crew cried out in alarm. It was like Calypso herself had just materialized in front of them, except _this_ towering woman was being propelled by a thousand-ton ship with eighteen sweeping oars. Even the sea goddess would've had trouble slowing it down.

The _Prowess_ didn't have a chance.

SMASH!

The _Pearl_'s bow slammed directly into the side of its enemy's stern, shoving the other vessel ahead and swinging its back end forward. Ragetti, Charlotte, and Friskin braced themselves against the steering wheel.

"SLOW US DOWN!" Friskin screeched to the rowers in the galley.

"ROW BACKWARDS!" Charlotte added.

"_LOOK OUT!_" Ragetti finished.

His two companions lifted their heads just in time to see what was waiting. With another sickening smash, the _Prowess_ collided with the hidden sandbar and buckled, sending a shockwave through the _Black Pearl_. The pirates in the galley were tossed out of their seats like rag dolls as their oars snapped from the strain. They were luckier than the other ship's crew; the Navy vessel skidded right on top of the sandbar and split open like a melon. The soldiers on the lowest level were under water before they even knew it.

The jolt from the impact knocked everyone on both transports off their feet. Murtogg and Mullroy narrowly avoided being crushed by their own cannon as they were tossed sideways, and Ragetti, Charlotte, and Friskin flew back into the stern rail when they lost their grip on the wheel. _Prowess_ crewmen tumbled across the deck and right over the sides of their ship.

Ragetti wiped his sopping wet hair out of his eyes and lurched up to the wheel on all fours. He threw himself the rest of the way, too dizzy to crawl forward, and tugged at one of the wooden handles as he stumbled. The _Pearl_ made an unsteady right in response and scraped against the side of the _Prowess_, pushing the doomed vessel even further onto its sandy trap. After a harrowing minute of this, the two ships separated.

Friskin clutched the top of the stern rail and hoisted himself to his knees. Charlotte did the same beside him, then both pirates gazed back at their crippled opponent. It was perched at an awkward angle and clearly damaged, but it wasn't sinking. The same sandbar that'd destroyed it was now the only thing keeping Windrick's ship above the water.

"We did it," Friskin rasped in disbelief. "We bloomin' did it…"

Ragetti panted as he peered over his shoulder too. Sensing this, Charlotte turned around to give him a confirming nod. The long-haired man forced an exhausted smile and shifted his attention back to the island. He didn't have the heart or the energy to celebrate the _Prowess_'s ironic fate. His uncle was his only concern now.

He stopped to observe the island, but suddenly climbed to his hands and knees when he heard what sounded like gunfire echoing in the distance.

"There's…sumfin' happenin' on shore."

…………………

Windrick couldn't stop cursing himself while he ran. How could he not have known this island was inhabited? Those little painted devils must've been here for years—maybe even centuries—and yet he and his men hadn't found so much as a spearhead when they'd first come across this place. If only they'd discovered it at night; he could just imagine the size of the bonfire casting that orange glow beyond the mountains.

His pride wasn't completely dashed though. Aside from this one setback, the captain's plan had gone perfectly. In a few moments, his ship would send the _Black Pearl_ to the bottom of the ocean, and even if that despicable pirate transport escaped, he still had Jack Sparrow's compass. That was all that mattered in the end—he'd gotten the compass back.

BANG!

Out of nowhere, a shot came sailing towards Windrick and shattered the tree trunk in front of him. The commander came to a clumsy halt and whirled to face the sound of the pistol. Another man was charging towards him, but he was quick to aim his own weapon at the unknown assailant. It took a few seconds for the stranger to see Windrick's gun in the dark, long enough for him to run through a revealing patch of moonlight that shined through the canopy.

Pintel stopped only meters short of the other captain's twin barrel, still stubbornly grasping his own. The two rivals read each other's faces with infinite disgust.

"Your friend seems to know all about the local wildlife," Windrick tersely pointed out. "I would have appreciated a warning before we arrived."

"You're one teh talk 'bout keepin' secrets!" Pintel spat. "Had this all mapped out from the beginnin,' didja?" he cocked his stolen pistol again, not caring for an answer.

Windrick watched him almost lazily. This was it. "And what is it you plan on doing after you shoot me? You'll either die here or at the end of a rope in Port Royal."

Pintel arched his eyebrows snidely. "I been told that b'fore. Prob'ly won't 'appen this time either!"

"You won't sail away from here on a pirate ship. I'll guarantee you that."

"Aye?" Pintel asked mockingly. He lowered hit pistol slightly to humor the cornered mouse. "Wot makes yeh 'fink that?"

"My crew is here," Windrick explained in an annoyed drone. "Didn't you think my ship would be here too?"

Somehow, this hadn't occurred to Pintel. "…Wot?…"

"She's waiting offshore with every gun loaded, not far from where your ship dropped anchor."

The bald pirate wasn't sure how to react to this, and he couldn't hide his confusion. "But…well that ain't a problem fer us. Y-you've seen 'ow fast we can load cannons when we really needs to!"

"Your crew won't see this coming. If you and your other men even get away from these savages alive, you won't have a ship left to go back to. And then you'll have your men to run away from." The prediction visibly bothered Pintel, who lowered his gun further in dismay.

Windrick smirked at this response and made a final comment. "Your little friend's going to die the same way your last captain did. I'm sure they'll enjoy comparing stories."

Pintel automatically aimed and pulled the trigger…

_Click._

The pirate froze with horror. _The gun was empty!_

Windrick saw his chance and returned the favor.

_BANG!_

It was nothing short of a miracle that his shot missed Pintel in the dark. The bald man immediately ducked in panic when he realized his predicament, and before Windrick could attempt another turn, he swung his stolen saber upwards…and planted it firmly between the officer's ribs.

Charles Windrick stiffened in pain and gawked blankly ahead. As soon as Pintel realized what he'd done to his betrayer, he leaned closer and bared his yellow teeth.

"Gimme regards t' Edmund the Red," he growled.

Then he pulled his sword back, ending it.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(A busy chapter, but I didn't want to stretch this battle out any longer than I had to. Look forward to another update soon!)


	20. We Were Pirates

(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, not to me.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Everything that'd happened after Windrick's death was little more than a hazy blur in Pintel's memory, but to hear it from his crew, the incident with the Pelegostos had been resolved as quickly as it'd been started. The pirates back on the _Pearl_—which was anything but destroyed—had eventually heard the commotion on shore and scared the angry natives away with a hail of cannon fire. One of the longboats had already been halfway back to the waiting mother ship by then, and it hadn't taken long for the other one to catch up.

What Pintel hadn't heard was that it was Ragetti who'd convinced the others on board to help their stranded crewmates instead of abandoning them, and had personally fired one of the first shots. He also didn't know that the one-eyed sailor had revealed a rather personal secret to Charlotte Berkley in order to gain her full support in the matter.

The rest of the night was pretty sketchy too; Pintel seemed to recall someone shouting, but whether the rant was directed at him and what it was even about, he had no idea. He must've gone into his cabin right after that and fallen asleep. This lack of recollection should have concerned him, but the pirate captain had a feeling that the events on that island were best left forgotten.

Unfortunately, the next morning brought more reminders than he could swallow, and it was all too fitting that Berkley the snarling man-lass was the one to barge in with those bad tidings.

"Four of your men died on that island. Do you know that?"

The _Black Pearl_'s captain never took his gaze off of the tabletop in front of him. It was like he was entranced by those dark swirling patterns in the wood.

Charlotte leaned closer with less patience. "Your ship was attacked! It nearly sank just trying to get away! You trusted Windrick less than anyone else on board, and you let him lead us right into that trap!"

"Gimme the short version of it, poppet," Pintel said bluntly without looking up. His own patience was starting to drain away too.

A warning glinted in the girl's dark eyes, but she held back and obeyed. "It's not been a week since we elected you as captain, and you've already dropped us in harm's way. That's a problem."

Pintel paused for a minute to gather his jumbled thoughts, and when he finally spoke, his tone said volumes. "…Yeh know, usually when yeh plans a mutiny, yeh doesn't run the idea by the cap'n first."

Charlotte ignored his thick sarcasm. "There is no mutiny, Sir. The men don't want it to come to that again."

"The _men_ don't?" Pintel echoed sharply, sparking to life. He locked stares with Charlotte and leaned closer menacingly. "An' wotta _you_ wants?"

The woman didn't hide her anger so well this time. "_I_ want to keep the crew out of danger, even if it's from their own captain! Those _men_ are the ones blaming you for what's happened, not me. I don't want to be the villain in all this."

"Then get out," Pintel said coldly, ending their duel.

Charlotte squared her jaw and silently stood up. The angry light never left her eyes, and her defiant glower never moved from Pintel's face. She watched the old captain, analyzing him deeply, then made a piercing farewell comment.

"Your nephew was on that ship too last night. You should at least know _that_." With that, she turned and strode out the door, leaving a perplexed Pintel alone in his quarters.

The scruffy man stared straight ahead at where Charlotte had been sitting. His _nephew?_ What the devil was that wench talking about? He didn't even have siblings, let alone a nephew! He blinked oddly and turned to study the open doorway of his cabin. His _nephew?_

Pintel would've dwelled on this puzzle, but a much more dire thought pushed it aside right then. Berkley'd said the men were blaming him for what'd happened. She'd said he'd led them all right into Windrick's trap, and yet not a single crewman wanted to mutiny against him for it. It sounded as logical as a whale living in a volcano, and Pintel refused to believe it. Silly breech-wearing tart. For all he knew, she'd probably denied the whole mutiny just so he'd lower his guard. She'd have to try harder to outsmart an old schemer like him though! Pintel'd heard her vote for Windrick in that election instead of for him—she must've been plotting against him from the very beginning!

The pirate captain rose clumsily from his chair and stomped up to his cabin door, slamming it shut. Once that was done, he made his way back to the table and sat heavily down again. He paused slightly to watch the door, then decisively leaned over to collect his new weapons from the floor. A minute later, Pintel had his sword strapped on and a loaded pistol in one hand.

He was backed into a corner, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

…………………

Charlotte knew she was going to turn a few heads when she walked into the captain's cabin. She'd only been hoping that none of those heads would care enough about it to hound her for details afterwards. Given the severity of what'd happened last night though, she wasn't terribly surprised to find someone waiting for her when she stepped back outside. Seeing the dejected figure, the woman patiently came to a stop.

Ragetti gawked at her with hurt accusation.

"I'm only trying to help," Charlotte explained quietly.

"You can't do this to 'im…" Ragetti protested, almost whispering. "'E's wanted t'be cap'n for so long!"

Charlotte turned away from the tall man and headed below deck, unable to face his anguish. "I'm not doing anything," she corrected him bluntly. "It's all up to him at this point._ I_ just let him know that."

Ragetti followed her down the stairs without a thought. "'E ain't gonna step down."

A weary expression crept onto Charlotte's features as she reached the last step. "Then I don't know what's going to happen."

There was a pause. Ragetti touched down behind her and watched her cagily. He wasn't any less afraid of this woman than he'd been two weeks ago, but his fear of what would happen if he backed away now kept him rooted in place. Sensing that he wasn't going to leave, Charlotte reluctantly glanced over at him.

"Why won't he step down?"

Ragetti hesitated in thought, then shrugged. "…'Cause 'e's Pintel." To the lanky youth, this answer was plenty.

His questioner wasn't quite as satisfied however. "And what does that mean?" she asked flatly.

"'E don't like takin' orders," Ragetti elaborated. "Leastways not from people 'e don't 'fink should be givin' 'em."

"Like poppets," Charlotte concluded dryly.

The other pirate fell silent and lowered his head as memories of Elizabeth Turner drifted back. Just the thought of that steely-eyed blonde girl made him wring his hands fretfully. "P-Pintel don't mean no 'arm by it. Just been…a bit overprotective since we voted 'im cap'n."

That was when Charlotte faced him directly. "But we_ didn't_ vote him." She walked closer to Ragetti then, trying to keep him from shying away. "Why would you pick a man like Charles Windrick when your own uncle wanted to be captain so much?"

Ragetti was staring at the floor like a nervous wreck. "…I…I didn't want 'im t'get 'urt. Cap'n' bein' a pop'lar target and all…"

The dark-haired woman spoke as calmingly as she could. "That's why I want him to step down too."

As soon as he heard this, the lanky fellow stopped and shifted his eye over to her. He suddenly wasn't so afraid. "_You_ want 'im t'give it up," he pointed out softly. "I didn't want 'im t'ave the choice at all."

Charlotte blinked. "Why not?"

"Because 'e's not gonna pick t'be ordered around!"

Ragetti tore his gaze away from the woman and took a seat on a nearby barrel. Charlotte did likewise. The one-eyed pirate kept his head down and took a deep breath before he continued.

"…Look," he said timidly, "B'fore we signed on wif Cap'n Jack the first time, we wasn't pirates. Well, I means…we _was_ pirates b'fore that, just not _right_ b'fore. We was sailin' under Cap'n Edmund Brackens on the _Spanish Doubloon_ when we run across a Navy ship. We tried t'fight 'em off, but they got us. Killed our cap'n, put th'rest of us in irons an'd drug us on board their ship. …Ol' Windrick were the one in charge of 'em. 'E was an admiral back then."

Ragetti couldn't hide his sour expression at this last recollection. "'E told 'is cre t'line us up, and 'e told us that we each 'ad a choice. We could either get 'frown into the brig and 'ang like pirates when we came ashore, or we could join 'is crew and fill in fer all th'men 'e'd lost b'fore that. We could start over clean…"

He trailed off just then, playing the scene over again in his mind. Charlotte nodded to herself, understanding the situation that'd been described.

"So what happened?" she asked.

Ragetti made a small, wry smirk. "Windrick's crew doubled and 'is brig stayed empty."

"But then Pintel chose to be a crewman," Charlotte cut in. "He chose to be ordered around."

"No, no," Ragetti said quickly as he shook his head at her. "'E only chose it at _first_. We was only in the Navy for a year, we only played it safe for a little while." He looked down again as darker memories came to mind. "…It was…bad what they did to us in there. Beatin's worse'n anyfin' what a piratecap'n'd give. Fifteen lashes fer stealin' food…and it weren't even decent enough food t'earn five lashes."

Charlotte lowered her own eyes at that. Now she couldn see just how badly Ragetti's hands were fidgeting. The man was barely even aware of her anymore.

He heaved his sagging shoulders as the painful recollection swept over him. "Them Navy buggers starve their crew like animals an' scare 'em into listenin'. Worked well enough on me, but Pinters…'e'd 'ad enough of it by then. So 'e pulled me aside one day an' told me 'ow sick of it 'e was, an' we got to really talkin' 'bout it all…and we decided we were pirates. We always were."

He met Charlotte's eye then. "We didn't belong in a place like that. Better t'sail free an' risk 'angin' than be safe in a cage wif stupid Navy blighters. So that night, we went up on deck, stole us a boat, and rowed all the way to Tortuga." He sat up straight and stared brightly ahead. His spirit was already lifting from this simple philosophy. "We were pirates. That was what Pintel chose for us."

But Charlotte was only saddened by this innocent outlook. "And what would you have chosen for yourself?"

Ragetti smiled warmly. "…To go wherever Pinters went."

She held his gaze with equal earnestness. "…But what if something happened to him, like it did with Gibbs? What would you do then?"

The question clearly stung Ragetti, and he turned away with a thick lump in his throat. Charlotte leaned closer, wanting to reassure him.

"I'm not asking him to leave the ship," she said gently. "I just want him to see what's best for everybody. To give the responsibility to someone else. He'll be safer that way. We'll all be safer…and you'll both still be pirates."

Ragetti said nothing for almost a minute. He was being faced with two terrible options, and there was nothing he could do but choose the one that would do the least damage.

"Well…I could talk to 'im. Dunno 'ow much more 'e'd listen to _me_ though," he said dully.

Charlotte nodded and leaned back, content with this. She was about to stand up and leave, but something else dawned on Ragetti just then. He turned slightly in his seat and studied the female buccaneer with sudden curiosity.

"…So what's _yer_ story? 'Ow'd _you_ get into all this?"

She froze at this unexpected question, halfway between standing and sitting. It looked like she was considering answering Ragetti, but Charlotte quickly recovered and got up.

"My story isn't important," she said flatly with her back turned.

"Oh come on," the thin man pursued. "I told yeh all 'bout Pinters'n me. It's only fair."

"Your story needed to be told. Mine doesn't."

"But I _wanted_ t'tell yeh."

"Will you go talk to your uncle?" the woman demanded in a much sterner voice.

A part of Ragetti wanted to chuckle at this huffy display. It was like a bratty five-year-old had abruptly replaced the once reasonable woman. Even so, he was smart enough to hold back on this impulse; another part of him sensed there was something lurking behind this issue that he shouldn't laugh at.

He leaned closer, becoming slightly concerned. "It's not sumfin' bad, is it?"

"No it's not!" Charlotte snapped even more defensively.

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Because it doesn't concern you!"

"Well how come—"

"_I SAID_—"

Charlotte whirled around so angrily that Ragetti actually sprang to his own feet. A anxious hush fell over the two as they awaited each other's next move, but neither seemed able to twitch so much as a muscle. It was only then that the fiery-eyed girl realized she'd just confirmed her questioner's suspicions.

Muffled footsteps from above made them both look up, forgetting their silent standoff. There were other crewmen directly overhead, and they'd no doubt heard an echo of Charlotte's sharp words. Grasping this, she sighed and glowered at Ragetti again. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene for the entire ship to hear.

"I went to sea when I was twenty-six, alright?" she told him grudgingly.

The other pirate bobbed his head once. "And what 'bout b'fore that? What were yeh b'fore yeh was a pirate?"

Charlotte crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on the floor. She had a face of stone. "…I was married."

Ragetti leaned back a little when he heard the quietness slip into her tone. "_Was_?"

There was a longer pause, then she dropped her arms and stormed away. "Forget it."

"What 'appened to 'im, Charlotte?" the gunner asked carefully.

It was enough to stop her dead in her tracks. The woman was like a statue, and Ragetti could only imagine what sort of emotions were flickering across her face as she kept her back turned. After what felt like ages, she finally spoke in a slow, lifeless voice.

"We lived in a seaside port in the Bahamas. Merchant ships would come through there every day to trade. Nobody owned the settlement. Then one night, a ship full of pirates came along and took whatever they wanted. They went through every tavern, every shop…every house."

The one-eyed pirate glanced away somberly. He could see where this was going.

Charlotte continued her story, oblivious to him. "It only took them one kick to get through the door. Three of them came in. But my husband wouldn't back down." She turned her head slightly as she recalled each chilling detail. "He took his hatchet from the wood pile…and…and told me to go into the bedroom."

She fell silent after that. Ragetti waited uneasily for more, but it soon became obvious that the line master was struggling with her retelling. "What for?" he asked.

There was no answer. Charlotte was looking forward again, and after another wordless moment that twisted his nervous gut, the scrawny sailor noticed her shoulders. They were trembling.

Ragetti slowly moved closer. "…Charlotte?"

Still no answer.

"Did 'e…send yeh back to 'ide?"

That was when the least expected thing happened. Charlotte shook harder, almost shuddering, then dropped her head…and sobbed.

"To get our _son!_"

It was like a freezing knife in the chest. Ragetti came to a halt and stared, paralyzed with horror and pity.

The story resumed.

"We thought he was in the bedroom," Charlotte explained in a voice quaking with pain. "He must've heard all the commotion and wandered out. I went in to get him…and he wasn't there. Then I heard screaming and shooting in the other room and I ran out. One of the pirates was dead. My husband was on the floor. He was still alive…and the other two pirates were standing over him with their pistols. They shot him together. And then I saw my son in the corner…"

Another sob rattled her. "He was six. He was just a baby…"

The lump was returning in Ragetti's throat. He felt so helpless seeing Charlotte like this and not knowing what to do. Her vulnerable revelation had caught him completely off guard, and he bitterly hated himself for just watching her. Even so, there was another part of him that couldn't escape his own selfish thoughts. How would Rebecca Pintel, his own mother, have reacted to such a discovery?

Still turned away, Charlotte sucked in a calming breath and finished her tale at long last. "I can't remember what happened next. I must have killed them. The hatchet was still lying on the floor…that's the only way I could've done it. And I don't know what came over me then. The next thing I knew…I was wearing their clothes. And none of those jabbering idiots could tell the difference when I came out._ I_ was a pirate too."

Ragetti's head was reeling. It all made sense now. All those resentful things she'd said to him about pirates, that they were nothing but criminals trying to justify themselves with fancy speeches about freedom and survival—it'd all been spoken from the shattered heart of a person who had every reason to hate them. The only thing more staggering than this realization was the confusion that it left behind.

"You…you joined them?"

Charlotte turned and met his eye resentfully. "I'd already lost my family and killed two men. What else was left for me to do?"

The younger crewmember lowered his head submissively. He didn't have the heart to even try holding his own against her now. Ever since he'd learned that Charlotte was a woman, Ragetti'd admired her from his cowardly distance, but this second revelation had sapped away every last scrap of the courage he'd been gathering. To think that all along, the confident beauty that he'd respected was just a ruined soul whose grief had thrown her so deep into madness that by the time she'd come to, she was too far under to climb out. Charlotte's vicious battle swagger had been nothing but a wall for her to hide herself behind. Nothing but a distraction…

Hot tears streaked down the other's face as she continued to glare at him. "Have I lost your approval now?" she demanded frigidly.

"No," Ragetti said softly, never looking up from his feet. He seemed in a distant state of shock. "I prob'ly would've done the same fing."

Charlotte hesitated for a second of thought, then wiped the tears away and stormed up the steps in a fury. Now alone, Ragetti stepped back and allowed himself to drop onto his barrel seat once more

"Prob'ly would've done the exact same fing…" he repeated breathlessly.

He was too afraid to admit that he already had.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Soon to be updated! Seriously, you don't want to miss the next chapter…)


	21. Uncle and Nephew

(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, not to me.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

The arrow was spinning again.

Pintel blinked at the compass in front of him like it was worthless. After all the trouble the blasted thing had landed him in, he was convinced that it was.

_Left, right, left, right, left, right…_

It was maddening. Just maddening. What the devil was wrong with this thing? All he wanted to do was find…

The bald captain stopped, dazed. Who did he want to find?

_Left, right, left, right, left, right…_

BAM!

Pintel slammed his fist so hard onto the table that his hand went numb. He could've just as easily done away with the compass, but it somehow didn't feel worth picking up his discarded sabre from the floor. He didn't even feel like picking up his pistol; he just wanted to vent his anger in the simplest way possible. As soon as the impact rattled up his arm, Pintel's answer finally returned to him.

He studied his hand with muted disgust. Once again, it was shaking uncontrollably.

Ragetti watched him somberly from behind. "…Nobody stays young forever, Pinters."

The older pirate was up in a flash. "Only Jack Sparrow wif 'is bloody fountain!" He shoved Ragetti back roughly for emphasis, angry that the young crewman had caught him so off guard. "And that's wot it always comes back to, ain't it? Good ol' Cap'n Jack Sparrow, who we could never go on wifout!"

Ragetti recoiled a little on his own then. "Well _you_ 'fought that way about 'im once," he pointed out warily.

"And wot a great investment of loyalty _that_ was!" Pintel snapped sarcastically. He stepped back suddenly and thumped into his chair again. "Maybe 'e don't want us t'find 'im. Ever 'fink about that?! Maybe all that lovey-dovey talk 'bout 'is precious li'l ship don't mean a monkey's ass in the real world! Y'know it took 'im ten years to find the _Pearl_ the _last_ time it left 'im behind? Why yeh 'fink that is? And Gibbs said just as much when 'e told us 'bout Sparrow runnin' off t'find 'is stinkin' immortality instead of 'is ship!"

The other frowned and kept his eye lowered. "'E didn't exactly 'ave much of a headin' fer findin' the _Pearl_."

Pintel snatched the compass furiously off the table and held it up for Ragetti to see. "He 'ad THIS! Yeh know wot this is?! This ain't no normal compass!"

"I knows that, Pinters. I known what it is as long as you 'ave." It took everything the skinny sailor had to hide the pain in his voice.

"He 'ad a magic compass wot told 'im exactly wot 'e wanted and exactly how t'find it! And it weren't this ship!"

Pintel hurled the compass fiercely onto the floor. The sharp clatter earned a jump from Ragetti, who immediately met his uncle's eye again. He hadn't been this afraid of the elder since before the Aztec curse was lifted, but he knew he couldn't afford to back away from him now.

As soon as his violent spurt was over, a complete change overtook Pintel. Instead of an enraged demon, Ragetti now saw the other pirate for what he really was: a cornered and spent old man.

"He gave 'er up!" The captain almost sounded hurt in his anger. "_I'm_ the one who took responsibility for 'er! Me! I'm the only one who wanted to be cap'n, and that's wot I am! And now the 'ole lotta yeh back-stabbin' sots wanna get rid a' me 'cause I ain't bloody great Cap'n Jack!"

With that, Pintel let out a winded cough and slumped back his chair, defeated. Ragetti watched his uncle for a long time before he began walking closer. If there was any hope left of reasoning with this wreck of a man, it would have to be through honesty.

"That ain't at all what it's about, Pinters," he explained softly. He was determined to say Pintel's old nickname as much as possible.

"Rat's wallop," his friend grunted. "Wot other reason would _those_ lads 'ave for it?"

"You let a fellow lead the 'ole crew into a trap. A Navy fellow, Pinters. They don't wanna chance sumfin' like that 'appenin' again."

"Don't wanna chance it?" Pintel echoed sourly, skeptical. "They gave plenty a' second chances t'Sparrow."

Ragetti swallowed hard as he came to stand at his uncle's side. He paused to juggle his dreary thoughts once more, then he tried to reach Pintel in the most personal way he could think of.

"…It was only 'sposed to be a temporary position, Pinters."

It was the worst thing to say.

Pintel's face blazed with an inhuman rage, and he automatically sprang to his feet when he recognized Gibb's last words. As soon as he was up, he spun around to deal with the troublesome long-haired crewman the best way his instinct knew how to: with his sword.

Ragetti barely had time to react. Just a second after he'd finished his sentence, he found himself stumbling backwards with a searing pain in his left arm. He left out a cry when the shock and agony caught up to him, then grabbed his arm on impulse. It was sticky and wet to the touch.

The surprise was overwhelming. All Ragetti could do was gawk down at the blood seeping through his sleeve is disbelief. The thick coppery smell of it hit him in a staggering wave then, and he snapped his head up to stare in horror at Pintel. The captain clutched his red-stained sabre and returned the look with mad, hateful eyes. The sight of him made Ragetti ghostly pale. Pintel was ready to defend his title to the death, and there wasn't a hint of recognition in his burning gaze.

Again, he swung his blade.

Ragetti jumped away with a scream and struggled to draw his own sword. Its sheath hung on his right side, but it felt like daggers were shooting up his left arm when he moved it. Not knowing what else to do, he left go of his wound and awkwardly retrieved the weapon with his less favored right hand. He had no intention of striking back with his sword though—only defending himself with it.

Pintel's blade came down on it with a piercing _clang!_

"Pinters!" Ragetti shouted at him all the while. "What're you doin'?! Stop it!"

_Clang!_

"Stop it! _Stop it right now!_"

But Pintel only snarled and lunged at him again, completely hell-bent. The next blow nearly knocked the sword right out of Ragetti's hand. That was when the younger pirate finally lost his composure.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!" he suddenly screeched. It was all boiling to the surface now. For months, he'd worried himself sick over Pintel, and all his ungrateful uncle'd ever done in return was mock him and ignore him. It was Pintel who'd cast him out and left him alone in this miserable state. It was Pintel who'd dragged him back to the Pelegostso's island where he'd fallen overboard, and now it was Pintel who'd become his greatest danger. Ragetti had broken under his burden at last, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from screaming.

"IT'S ME, PINTEL! DON'T YOU BLOODY RECOGNIZE ME?! IT'S ME! IT'S RAG—"

_SLASH!_

With a single swipe, Pintel laid a dark red stripe across Ragetti's forehead and sent him toppling back senselessly. The lanky man's fall sent him headfirst into one of the cabin's windows, and smashing against it, he collapsed onto the floor in a shower of shattered glass. There he lay in a motionless heap, now silent.

Pintel moved in to finish it. There was hardly an expression on his whiskered face as he raised his sword and stormed forward. He was savagely focused on running that mop-haired pest through, but just as he reached his unresponsive foe, his foot abruptly came down on something small and round. It was enough to snap him out of his vicious thoughts and make him stop. Puzzled, Pintel stepped back and squinted down at the curious object.

It was a wooden ball of some sort—he could see that now. It was crudely carved, no doubt made by an amateur, and it didn't seem to have any markings. Pintel sank down to one unsteady knee for a closer look. What was this thing?

One leathery hand reached out to prod at the item, rolling it around lightly. It was then that the ball finally turned up and revealed its one marking: a dark circle with an even darker dot directly in its center. Just like that, something registered with Pintel, and he suddenly heard a haunting, familiar sound echo in his head: a scream.

A piercing, chilling, horrifying scream.

Pintel was back on his feet before the awful shriek ended. There was something _too_ familiar about it. He did nothing for almost a minute, simply staring down at the wooden ball—the wooden eye—but once his scrambling thoughts managed to settle together, he lifted his head towards that lanky man lying by the window. After a wary hesitation, he placed his sword on the floor and crept closer to his fallen opponent.

The younger fellow remained still. Both of his eyes were shut, and the dark blood oozing from his forehead was already running down his face and into his hair. Pintel paused one more time, then slowly knelt and leaned over the whelp. He wanted to see if he could recognize him, or to at least convince himself that he couldn't.

An image flashed in his head right then: an image of a boy, probably no more than ten years old. The little blonde runt was sleeping, curled up under a burlap sack surrounded by gunpowder barrels, and he, Pintel, was privately watching him from above. It was an eerie reflection of the situation unfolding in front of him now, and Pintel didn't know what to make of it.

Squaring his jaw, the captain lifted his subject's head and firmly yanked off the red bandanna, letting that mane of blonde hair flop out. Then he gathered up the scraggly mess and pulled it back. What did this lad look like with short hair? Pintel squinted down at that narrow face, trying to spot something familiar through the blood.

And all of a sudden, he did.

Pintel immediately dropped Ragetti's head and flew back in horror. As soon as he hit the floor, the old man rolled onto all fours and frantically crawled over to his table. His green eyes were nearly bulging out of his head as he clutched that flat wooden top, taking whatever support it had to offer. Pintel didn't dare glance back at the body behind him—in his badly shaken mind, he wanted to believe that this nightmare would all disappear if he looked away long enough. It felt like ages before he let another thought wander into his head, and when the full realization of what he'd done sank in, he felt an agonizing burn in his throat.

_No...no no no…_

The bald pirate squeezed his eyes shut and bit his knuckle, desperate to keep his emotions subdued. _No no no no no…_

A jolt shot through him then, and his senses snapped back so sharply that he practically sailed across that room to his limp companion.

"Rags! Rags!" He seized Ragetti by the shoulders and shook him. "Rags! _Rags!_"

The boy made no response. Blood. Blood was everywhere…

Pintel grabbed Ragetti's head with both hands. "_RAGS!!_"

Still nothing.

Pintel could barely breath through his tightening throat. "…Ra…Rag—…Ragott—…R-Rigad…Ri…" He released his friend with a choking wheeze and began beating himself in the head. What was Rag's real name?! He had to remember it! He'd bash his own filthy brains in if he had to! Why couldn't he remember it?!

"Rags…" Pintel whimpered. "Rags, please…Don't do this, Rags… Don't do this, _please_…"

And then, a miracle.

"Nnnnn…"

The groan was barely audible. Ragetti's eyes clenched tighter as the first wave of pain came to him, and he impulsively flailed his injured left arm. Pintel made a startled cry and retreated again when he saw this, too overwhelmed to do anything else. This time, however, his waning strength gave out and he stumbled against the wall in a pathetic heap of his own.

Behind him, Ragetti slowly came to and rolled onto his side with another groan. The pain in his head was unimaginable. Every beat of his pulse sent his world spinning, and the suffocating stench of blood only magnified that nausea. It was a wonder he didn't vomit at that very instant. Instead, he grasped his forehead with his good hand until the dizzying sensation passed and blearily opened his eyes. He could just make out the hazy figure slumped against the wall ahead of him.

"…Pinters?" he rasped. He wasn't ready to sit up just yet.

The other kept his back turned and said nothing.

Ragetti blinked and tried to clear the fog from his thoughts. "Pinters?" he asked with more ease.

Pintel couldn't even attempt to hide his anguish. "…I'm goin', Rags."

The one-eyed crewman was till too dazed to understand. "Oi!" he gasped, shakily lifting himself. "You doesn't 'ave to leave!"

"No," Pintel's trembling voice jumped in. "No. My…my _mind's_ goin'. I can't remember anyfing. I can't…" He broke off at that and brought a grimy sleeve up to his face.

Wincing, Ragetti sat up further and dragged himself closer to his troubled friend. He barely moved a meter before he felt a familiar wooden object under his fingers. It was his fake eye! But why was it on the floor? Perplexed, the bony youngster picked up his prosthetic to inspect it. It didn't take long for him to figure out what'd happened.

Ragetti gazed up at his uncle just as the older man turned around, and he could see the heartbroken glaze in those once sharp eyes. "Oh, Pinters…"

The skinny sailor started to move closer, but Pintel sparked with terror and scrambled away. "No!" the bald captain shrieked. "No, don't come near me! Get away!"

Ragetti shook his head, misunderstanding. "It's alright. I ain't gonna 'urt—"

"Get away from me!" Pintel wailed even louder. "Can't yeh bloody see wot I done already?!"

The words made Ragetti shrink back with a devastated expression. Pintel wasn't afraid of him—he was afraid _for_ him.

"But…but yeh knows me now," the blonde pirate insisted pleadingly. "Yeh figured it out all by yerself." He crept forward again, determined to reach his comrade. "Yeh knows who I am, Pinters."

Ragetti stopped just short of the elder and waited. Cornered, Pintel just stared down at the wooden eye in that bony hand. A hand that was covered in blood.

He had tried to kill his nephew. There was no denying it anymore. Pintel'd let his anger drive him so far over the edge that he'd willingly destroyed every memory of this boy—this trusting, innocent boy—and had harmed him so badly that he'd actually mistaken him for a corpse. After all those years of promising to protect this child from harm, he, Robert Pintel, had tried to murder him. And he'd come so terribly close…

Pintel's face crumpled from the strain of this realization. "I'm so sorry," he said in a quivering whisper. "So…so sorry I dragged yeh into this. Sorry I didn't wanna believe it…"

The aging pirate was trembling all over. Pintel couldn't compose himself, not even in front of Ragetti. The broken leader was almost sick with his own guilt and self-loathing, and in that despair, he did the only thing he could think of. Without warning, Pintel reached out, grabbed hold of the lad, and tugged him into an apologetic embrace.

A ragged breath tore through the old man. "I'm sorry fer everyfing!"

Ragetti's first reaction was one of panic. He let out a startled squeal and instinctively struggled, but this stressful onslaught only made his head spin worse. Too injured and disoriented to protest, the frightened runt shuddered and sagged into that iron grip.

Pintel tightened his hold further and placed a hand on the back of Ragetti's head, pressing that bony face into one of his bulky shoulders. He desperately needed to show the boy that it was alright now, to somehow prove to him that he could feel safe around his uncle again.

Another stinging breath cut through Pintel's throat then. He had to prove it…even though Rags had never deserved someone so despicable.

Ragetti felt Pintel wrench from this awful realization. It made him tense up again, but then out of nowhere, he heard a sharp, ragged gasp from his friend—a sob. That was when it hit him.

Pintel was crying.

The spinning grew even faster. Crying. Ragetti could hear more crying, but from someone else this time. From a woman…

An image was rushing back to the disoriented pirate, a long-suppressed memory that'd suddenly chosen to resurface in this moment of chaos. Just like that, he was a child again, and he was wrapped tightly in the quaking arms of a hysterical woman as she knelt on the floor. It was all a huge blur in his mind, but somehow, Ragetti could tell from the sound of those woeful howls that the woman was his mother. Rebecca Pintel was crying and clutching her son. But why?

Unaware of Ragetti's recollection, Pintel blinked back tears and held up one of his own blood-speckled hands. The sight of those hideous crimson stains was all it took to completely push him over the edge; he'd carved a scar right across Ragetti's forehead, just like the one that Windrick had given to _him_. He'd become the exact same thing that he'd hated all his life, only he'd left a far deeper mark to show for it.

The buccaneer's tears returned with a vengeance, blurring his eyes and spilling outwards, and he finally admitted the dire secret that had clung to him for twenty-six years.

"My nephew. My nephew…" A second sob shook Pintel as the weight of those words sank into him. "My boy…my little Rags…_my nephew!!_"

Ragetti snapped out of his trance and slowly turned his head towards his uncle. He had witnessed the full devastation that Gibbs's death had left on Pinters, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how much this near loss of his nephew—by his own hand, no less—was destroying the poor man inside. Swallowing hard, Ragetti shifted in that weakening embrace and carefully put his own arms around Pintel.

"_MY NEPHEW!!_"

"'E's right 'ere," Ragetti said shakily. "'E's fine. It's alright, Pinters…"

Pintel coughed heart-rendingly and heavily slumped against Rags, buckling under his grief. His nephew's hold only tightened.

"It's alright."

And then all of a sudden, they weren't alone. Murtogg and Mullroy froze in the cabin's doorway, fearfully drawn to the commotion. Murtogg took one look at the scene and stepped forward, but Mullroy stopped him short with a firm hand on the shoulder. Even he could tell what'd just occurred in this room, and the former soldier knew better than to rush between his two old friends now. A split second later, a stunned Charloote appeared behind them as well.

Ragetti stiffened at the sight of all three of them. There was silence as he looked to each one, then he turned to shield Pintel from their prying eyes. He had to be the protector now.

The shuffling of other crewmen's footsteps was heard further beyond the three onlookers. Charlotte quickly spun around to force them back with a sharp word. Inside the cabin, Ragetti could only pull his trembling uncle closer.

"I'm right here."

--

--


	22. Leaving the Ship

(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, not to me.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

There was no denying what had to be done with Pintel after his violent breakdown, however painful a solution it was. A captain who blindly misled his crew could be dealt with, but one who openly attacked them was too dangerous to remain onboard. That was why the next day, the _Black Pearl_ had turned its mast southeast and sailed straight to Tortuga. Robert Pintel's pirating career had begun on that infamous turtle island. It was only fitting that it should end there as well.

Ragetti'd decided right from the beginning that he'd join his uncle in this early retirement. He was invaluable to the faltering old man now, and the thought of watching Pinters go anywhere and not following was still unimaginable. The one-eyed crewman was willing to turn his back on the _Pearl_ in a heartbeat—having already hacked off most of his hair last night to look like the Rags that Pintel remembered—but there was one small matter that he needed to settle first.

"I didn't want this to happen," Charlotte said heavily. "I mean—…Not like this. He deserved to stay on the ship. To keep his dignity intact at least."

It was late that afternoon. The _Black Pearl_ had reached its destination and dropped anchor hours ago, and Ragetti found himself standing on the docks in front of the black-sailed vessel with an unusually quiet Charlotte. He frowned at her dreary comment and shifted his feet uncomfortably. Pintel didn't have a scrap of dignity left to his name now.

"You gotta 'fink 'bout what yeh does want now. That's t'find Cap'n Jack, whether 'e's on land or sea." He motioned to the device in Charlotte's hands. "The compass'll do the rest."

"But why're you giving it to me?" she asked. "What about your friends? Murtogg and Mullroy?"

"Joe'n Pete…" Ragetti murmured. He shook his head absently, smirking as he felt a faint breeze on the back of his neck. It felt strange to have short hair again, even if the bloody bandage around his head made it difficult to feel anything. "They ain't right for it. And after that li'l stunt wif rammin' the _Prowess_, I reckon you'll be gettin' a pretty fancy position on this ship soon."

Charlotte arched her brows dryly. "Captain Berkley," she tested the name. "Somehow I think Friskin'll get more of the votes."

"Either way, I 'fink you should keep it."

The woman nodded, then stopped as something else occurred to her. "What does Sparrow look like?"

"Oh…you'll know 'im when yeh sees 'im," Ragetti answered flatly. It was the simplest and most accurate description he could come up with.

This seemed to work for Charlotte, who opened the compass to watch its arrow wobble back and forth. Both pirates waited in tense silence, then eased up when that taunting red marker finally came to rest on their ship. Seeing what she had to do, Charlotte carefully raised her eyes to look at Ragetti.

"…We could've been good friends," she offered. "You know?"

Ragetti met her stare and quickly looked away. He hadn't been expecting such a statement, and not knowing how to respond, he impulsively glanced back at Pintel. The wilted captain was seated on a wooden crate a few meters away from the two of them, trying his best not to notice their conversation. Pinters may not have gotten along with Charlotte, but it obviously pained him to know that he was ruining his nephew's chances of being with her. Ragetti turned back around with his head down.

"…It took an ambush from the Royal Navy and a run-in wif the Pelegostos to get me t'even look at yeh again." He swallowed then and glumly met Charlotte's gaze. They'd be no better off together even if Pinters _hadn't_ lost his senses. "We never would've been anyfin'."

It was a cold-sounding reply, but the wistful light in his eye betrayed it. Charlotte nodded again, returning that look with her own silent apology. She lowered her own eyes and turned, then solemnly made her way along the dock and up the _Black Pearl_'s loading ramp.

And that was the end of that.

.....................

For Pintel and Ragetti, the only thing worse than leaving the ship they'd served on for fifteen years was watching it sail away. The _Pearl_ had become their home, which was something that most pirates went their entire lives without having. Unfortunately, this realization only made the sight of that disappearing rudder all the more crushing.

Pintel stared blankly at the vessel, unsure of how to regard it. He'd miss her, true enough, but an awful voice in the back of his head reminded him that he deserved to see her go. After all, it wasn't Ragetti's fault that the two of them were sitting here now—he, Pintel, had finally let his own stubbornness drag them to the bottom.

The former commander swallowed back the lump in his throat and meekly shifted his eyes to his nephew. Rags looked gloomy enough for the both of them.

A thought came to the older man, then he glanced away with guilt. "Pirates' lives fer us," he murmured sheepishly. "…Aye?"

Ragetti looked up, surprised. He wasn't even sure if Pinters was talking to him at first, but after a moment of confusion, he suddenly recognized those hopeful words and brightened.

"…Guess Tortuga ain't exactly a step down from th'_Pearl_," the youth admitted warmly.

"We've 'ad just as many fings 'appen to us on this rock," Pintel added. "Prob'ly even more." He was going to see the bright side of this situation even if he had to lie about it. "Sailin' all yer life's wot gives people the wrong idea 'bout pirates. We's better off stayin' 'ere."

Ragetti paused, then nodded. He was willing to see the truth in that argument as well. Besides, he'd spent the first the first ten years of his life on this buccaneer island and had met his uncle right by this very harbor; if any other place in the world could be called a home, it was here.

"Aye," he said at last. He gave one final look to the _Black Pearl_, and all thoughts of Charlotte, Jack Sparrow, and every other matter that'd weighed on his mind faded into the distance as well. The only people who existed now were him and old Pinters—just like it always should've been.

"We's bof' better off."

--

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(Soon to be updated!)


	23. Secret Revealed

(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti don't belong to me.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

"I told yeh t'wait outside the tavern, boy."

The tow-headed toddler cowered even further into the muck where he sat. "I did," he murmured. "Th'big black mum dog made me go. Bited me shirt an' wouldn't let go and took me 'ome to 'er puppies. They was bof this big." He held out his bony arms to indicate something almost as large as himself.

Rebecca Pintel's face barely even showed a reaction. "I told yeh t'stay _there_ and I found yeh here. There ain't no dogs 'ere now. Why didn't yeh go back? Devil knows I doesn't tell yeh to do much."

The boy edged back and lowered his head just then. This was probably the most attention his mother'd ever given him in his five years, and he didn't know what to expect from her now. As soon as he did this though, Rebecca turned away from him and focused her attention on the empty air beside her instead.

"Simple commands, I gives 'im!" she spat. "'Go there,' and 'e stays. 'Stay here,' and 'e goes! Wot'd I do teh deserves this? Why don't nobody ever _bloody listen t'me?!_"

She'd almost bellowed her last words, stomping her foot so hard that her heel wedged deep into the mud. Rebecca suddenly floundered as she struggled to free herself, then dropped to her knees and resigned herself to simply screaming.

"Damn you! Damn you wherever you are, Ragetti! Yeh grub-lickin' dung rat! Damn you!"

Her son scrambled onto all fours and recoiled even more, but his eyes stayed glued to the angry woman. He was more wary than afraid, like a tiny mutt waiting for a larger and meaner dog to move along. After scuttling backwards a few meters, the awkward child bumped against a nearby wooden fence and stopped. As soon as he did, he felt a faint thump on the top of his head as if someone were petting him. Ignoring it, the boy looked around, and in the late morning light, a dark figure caught his eye in the distance.

It was the mother dog, calmly watching him from across the muddy Tortuga road.

Unaware of this silent interaction, Rebecca ceased her cursing and began to sob as she tugged at her hair. "Look wot yeh made me say," she whimpered. "Look wot you all made me do…"

The petting started to feel harder on the child's head, almost making him bob up and down. Still, he couldn't bring himself to look away from that huge black dog that stared back…

Then just like that, everything changed.

Ragetti grunted and snapped his eyes open. He was lying on a rickety cot in the middle of the night now, an adult in the present once more. The only remnant of that childhood memory was the thick stench of rum and gunpowder. The dream was over.

And then the petting started again.

The pirate nearly leapt out of his skin when he felt that leathery hand on his head. It was then that he noticed a stout silhouette seated on the edge of his cot and heard a familiar voice mumbling softly.

"Knocked on the door…wouldn't stop 'til 'e opened it."

Ragetti nudged the hand off of his head and twisted around to stare up at the other man. "Pinters?" His voice was a confused whisper. "What're you doin'?"

"Shot 'im right in th'face," the elder went on, oblivious. "Called 'im a chum an' put a shot right 'frough 'is 'ead." All the while, his right hand kept moving to pat Ragetti's messy hair.

The younger pirate grabbed his uncle's wrist and sat up. "Why'd yeh come all th'way over 'ere by yerself?"

Pintel was staring blankly ahead as he continued muttering. "'E were just openin' the door…doin' 'is job…weren't 'urtin' no one."

Ragetti sighed and clumsily maneuvered himself to sit next to Pintel. "Alright," he said dismissively. "We're goin' back teh your side of the room." With that, he wrapped one arm around the older pirate's waist and carefully hoisted him to his feet.

"Didn't deserve it at all," Pintel finished grimly, still lost in his own gloomy thoughts.

Trying his best not to listen, Ragetti stepped forward and led the other man across the floor.

It'd been four months since either of them had laid eyes on the _Black Pearl_. Barely a word had even been heard about the infamous ship, and this apparent disappearance made their separation from the vessel all the more final. In a way, Pintel and Ragetti felt like they were marooned on Tortuga, but they couldn't have asked for a better place to be stranded. Looking back on everything they'd lived through, Ragetti came to realize that the four months he'd spent with Pinters on this rowdy, rum-soaked island were some of the best months of his entire life.

The pair's first order of business after leaving the _Pearl_ had been to secure a new residency, and it hadn't been long before Ragetti'd found a room for two at an inn called the Salty Sea Dragon. The tiny building was a dive in every sense of the word, but its prices were just as cheap as everything else it had to offer. Four months later, the lanky pirate was still more or less paying for him and Pintel to live there, and it was in that same room that he was now escorting his delirious uncle to bed.

Ragetti frowned as Pinters resumed his incoherent rambling. Whether it was from the passage of time or his own guilt for what he almost did to his nephew, the once inspiring captain had faded into a frail and weary old man, an empty husk that no longer contained his flaming personality. In turn, Ragetti had also undergone a transformation, taking charge of both his uncle and their rocky situation. He'd become the "Pintel" of the duo, and he even had a forehead scar of his own to show for it.

"Alright, down we goes." The one-eyed youth turned around as he reached the other cot and carefully sat down on its edge with his older charge. Pintel barely took notice of this and continued murmuring.

"Probably 'ad plans th'next day…never got t'do 'em…shot 'im right in 'is face…" His voice started to lower as his thick eyelids dropped. "Didn't…deserve it at all."

Without another thought, Pintel hung his head and immediately fell back to sleep. Ragetti remained seated beside him for a moment, watching him expectantly. As common as these odd episodes had become, they still had a way of taking the one-eyed whelp by surprise. Pinters was sleeping like he'd never been awake; did he even realize he'd been wandering around talking to himself a minute ago?

Ragetti swallowed back a lump in his throat and looked away. For the present moment, he was sitting quietly with his uncle, and that was all he wanted to think about.

He was too afraid to think about the future.

…………………

If the Salty Sea Dragon's barely existing prices weren't enough to lure customers into its shabby rooms, the even lower priced pub in its lobby was the ultimate bait. It was a long-proven fact that pirates would drink anything with alcohol in it, and this was probably the only way the Dragon was able to sell so much of its mud-colored swill.

A faint scowl appeared on Ragetti's face after he downed the last of his rum. He was starting to think he'd prefer actual mud. Swiftly masking his disgust, he glanced at Pintel and gestured to the plate of bread and cheese that sat on their table.

"Finish that, Pinters," he said casually. But his bald companion never moved his listless gaze from the empty tabletop in front of him.

Ragetti frowned at this and leaned forward dejectedly, resting his elbows on the table. As soon as he applied his weight, however, the entire structure tilted sharply to the right and nearly sent him tumbling from his seat. The scrawny man was startled at first, but once his wits came back to him, he set down his mug and gave the crummy piece of furniture a test shake. Bloody hell—the stupid thing was even wobblier than a one-legged deckhand!

Fortunately, Ragetti found his solution right on the plate in front of him. Sensing that Pintel wasn't going to eat a scrap of their leftovers, he reached over, snagged the stalest piece of bread he could see, and slipped it under the table's shortest leg. After that was accomplished, the blonde pirate gave the structure another test shake and grinned to himself. Good as new.

This victory called for another cruddy drink.

"Oi," Ragetti said as he nudged Pintel's arm. "I'm goin' t'get another pint. Stay 'ere, alright?"

Taking his uncle's silence as a sign of agreement, the younger fellow got up and began weaving his way through the bustling crowd. Pintel didn't even seem to realize that he was alone as he continued staring blankly at the table. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for someone else to take notice of the solitary old man.

The first pirate to see him was a middle-aged chap with a tattered leather hat and a face that was beet red with sunburn. A sadistic grin formed on his lips when he spotted his target, then he blindly reached back and swatted his equally grubby comrade. The second man, who'd been doubled over in an attempt to drink directly from a tapped rum keg, stood up in surprise and suddenly smirked when he followed his friend's glare. Without a word, the troublemakers stalked over to Pintel's table and stood on either side of their oblivious victim.

"This is a mighty bad spot t'come fer some quiet dinin', aye mate?" the first pirate commented mockingly. The second fellow moved in for his turn when Pintel gave no reaction.

"How'd an old rock like you even get in 'ere? Yeh didn't wander in by yerself, did yeh?" He was only millimeters away from Pintel's face as he spat his words.

"Blimey!" the first taunter growled to his companion. "It's like the bugger ain't even awake!" He gave Pintel a rough shove for emphasis.

"Are yeh sleepin', bugger?" the second pirate asked with a laugh. Again, Pintel made no response.

The first buccaneer scowled and moved closer. He'd have to take this to the next level if he wanted to get a scare out of this sot.

"Well maybe," he sneered, "we should wake 'im up!" Then without hesitation, he pulled a wicked-looking dagger from his belt and stabbed it fiercely into the tabletop right under Pintel's nose. The bald elder didn't jump at this sudden aggressiveness, but he did shift his weary eyes to look at the other's hand on the hilt.

This earned a gleeful reaction from the second pirate. "Aye! The chap _is_ awake! Get 'im t'say sumfin' next!"

But Pintel didn't need anymore prompting from his tormentors.

"...Yeh doesn't wanna do this, lad," he said softly without looking up.

The fellow gripping the dagger blinked curiously at this simple statement. "Oh? Well we begs t'differ."

He tightened his filthy fingers around the hilt, but at that moment, his cruel antics caught someone else's attention.

Ragetti practically hurled himself at the two ne'er-do-wells as he came tearing out of the crowd. "_OI!_ Leave 'im alone!" He seized the first pirate by the arm and angrily yanked him away from Pintel. "What's th'matter wif you, pickin' on a poor old man?!"

The other decided to answer with his fist. "AAAAAR!!"

Ragetti yelped and impulsively ducked. His opponent clearly wasn't expecting this maneuver, as the brute's momentum sent his punch flying straight into the face of an unsuspecting drunkard. Rum splattered everywhere.

The drunkard staggered for a few seconds, then focused the last of his sense on tackling the taunter head-on. Ragetti wisely stayed low as he scrambled to the side. In the end, this did him even more good by keeping him out of the second taunter's way. As soon as the other man sprang forward to help his comrad, Ragetti dashed back to the table and grabbed Pintel under his bulky arms.

"Lunchtime's over!" he shouted to his charge. "Let's go!" He was almost dragging Pintel away.

But the first red-faced pirate wasn't about to let it end there.

"YOU!" he bellowed from the thrashing dogpile. That bony cyclops was already too far out of reach, and with his dagger still wedged deep in the tabletop, the thug could only attempt to squeeze out of his trap.

Without hesitation, Ragetti turned to another nearby swashbuckler and pointed to the wench hanging on his arm. "Aye, that fellow's been oglin' at her the 'ole bloomin' mornin'!"

That was all it took to send the onlooker charging into the fray, followed by his female friend. The last thing Pintel and Ragetti saw of that senseless skirmish was the taunter frightfully overturning their abandoned table as a barrier. The younger of the two escapees couldn't resist cackling as they disappeared behind the row of keg barrels.

"Blimey…that were…too _easy!!_" Ragetti's laughing fit sent him sinking straight to the floor. A grim expression formed on Pintel's face as he was dragged down beside him.

"She's expectin'…" the stocky elder said flatly.

Ragetti sucked in a deep breath as he tried to calm his giggling. "What?"

"Rebecca's expectin'," Pintel went on. "Me own sister. She's wif child. Guess that makes me an uncle…"

Ragetti's grin started to fade at this. "What're yeh talkin' 'bout?"

By now, the other was speaking only to himself. "She's gettin' well into it, looks of fings. Startin' t'get big. Wonder when she's due."

His nephew straightened up when the realization dawned on him. "…Wait. You saw me mum when she were expectin'?"

"Lousy git," Pintel grumbled darkly.

"Pinters…" The giddy smile returned as Ragetti leaned closer. "You never told me you saw 'er when she were expectin' me." His narrow face was utterly glowing with curiosity.

"Back-stabbin' blighter 'elped steal me boat," his uncle continued. "She started it. Pointed the pistol at me first. Was just defendin' meself."

Ragetti blinked. "…A pistol?"

"Said she wanted me bag ah' coins. Pointed 'er pistol right in me face an' told me t'hand 'em over. Stupid rat didn't even know it weren't cocked." He let out a dry grunt of a laugh. "Pulled out the ol' flintlock and shot it right out of 'er hand. Turned the tables. See 'ow she liked it."

Another realization slowly came to Ragetti, but instead of more glee, this one brought horror. "You…you were gonna…shoot 'er?"

"Had 'er scared good an' straight, I did. Served 'er right."

Ragetti was looking more and more concerned by the second. "But—…but she were expectin'. Pinters!"

He gave the other a quick shake, anxious to get his attention. This seemed to prompt a puzzled reaction from Pintel, and Ragetti hunched over to look fearfully into those dark green eyes.

"You weren't gonna shoot 'er while she was expectin'…"

Pintel had a face of stone. "I should've."

The skinny blonde loosened his grip on his uncle and edged back. "B-but…what about the baby?"

"Don't know what'll happen to the kid," Pintel said with a half-hearted shrug. "I don't 'fink she wants it. Prob'ly wouldn't 'urt it. Nah. She won't 'urt the baby. Not much. Maybe just ignore it, pretend it ain't there."

"…No!" Ragetti was shaking his head frantically. It couldn't be true—it just couldn't! "No, that were someone else, Pinters. It had to be."

"Oi!" the former captain snapped. He lifted a shaky hand and began gesturing wildly in his daze. "I doesn't forget faces! She were me good-fer-nuffin' sister, and she 'elped that slimy bastard steal me boat. She bleedin' helped 'im _steal_ it! An' after I comes all outta' me way to do 'er a favor! Said that fellow were gonna give 'er sumfin' extra if she 'elped 'im." Just then, he broke off and laughed darkly. "Well…'e certainly kept up 'is end of the bargain. Gonna take 'er nine stinkin' _months_ t'get that extra sumfin'!"

Ragetti had never looked so pale. Oscar…the man who'd stolen Pintel's boat. It was impossible! After all these years, the man that Pintel'd hated had turned out to be his, Ragetti's, own father!

The thought made the youth sick to his stomach, but the awful nausea of this revelation was barely a twinge compared to the news about his mother, Rebecca. Pintel had almost killed her. Uncle Pinters, the dear old friend who'd practically raised him like a son, had pointed a gun at his mother and almost killed her while he'd been in her womb. The thought of this felt like nothing short of a knife in Ragetti's heart. Pinters had almost killed _him_.

Pintel continued to sit beside him in silence. After an endless minute of this, a trace of the frail man's senses returned to him and he glanced dully over at Ragetti. He managed a warm smirk when he recognized his nephew's lean figure; he had no memory of what he'd just told the boy.

"Hey Rags."

_Crash!_

It all happened too fast for Ragetti to take in. One moment, he was sitting next to Pintel, and the next, he was running. Barrels, tables, pirates—he blindly collided with everything that stood in his path. All the terrified whelp wanted to do was get out of that room as quickly as possible.

It was a miracle that he even found the front door in his panicky rush. Ragetti threw himself against this last wooden barrel and fell to his hands and knees on the dirt road outside. Even then, he didn't stop; he just crawled along on all fours like a dumb and confused animal. He finally came to a stop around the corner of the inn, and with no other idea what to do, he slumped against the side of the building and curled himself into a pitiful ball.

"She were expectin'!" he cried hoarsely as he rocked himself back and forth. "She were expectin'! What about the baby?! _Aah!_"

Ragetti bit down on one of his knuckles to cease his hysterical rant. He had to calm down. He had to keep himself together!

Several minutes passed before he felt composed enough to remove his trembling hand. Even after he did this, he continued rocking. He doubted he'd ever be able to stop doing that.

"You never told me…" he whispered with bulging eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Pinters… Why didn't you tell me?!"

--

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(Soon to be updated!)


	24. What “Pirate” Means

(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean doesn't belong to me.)

A quick note: in case you haven't read all of my other Pintel and Ragetti stories, I suggest you at least read "Our Own Reason." I make a few references to it in this chapter.

-KRRouse

**Paradise of the Mind**

It took Ragetti almost an hour to pull himself back together after that staggering revelation. It took him even longer to figure out what he would say to Pintel about it.

As much as a part of him wanted to, the one-eyed pirate knew that he couldn't be openly angry with his uncle. Pinters was frail and confused; the old man wouldn't be able to defend himself even if he did remember telling his dark secret. At the same time though, Ragetti couldn't just drop the matter. He'd been deeply troubled by what he'd heard so far, and another side of him desperately wanted to get to the roots of Pintel's story. What could have possibly made a man angry enough to want to kill his sister? What could have made him want to kill any woman who was expecting? Most importantly, was that evil resentment still there?

Eventually, Ragetti's mind was made up. He was going to march right back into that inn and get every answer he needed from Pintel, even if it took him all night. It wouldn't take half that long if his questions were firm and clear enough.

With that decided, Ragetti finally made his way back inside the Salty Sea Dragon and to the cluster of barrels where he'd left his uncle. He thought for sure that Pinters would still be slouched there, as the barely responsive elder hadn't even been aware of his surroundings for the past month, let alone alert enough to wander around in them. Ragetti'd become convinced of this, and that was why he skidded to a dumbfounded stop when he came around those barrels.

Pintel was gone. Simply vanished without a trace.

Ragetti swallowed hard as he suddenly felt his nerve give way to panic. He whirled around then to feverishly scan the crowded tavern. Pinters was nowhere in sight! Where could he possibly be?!

A bar wench moseyed past him as she balanced a tray full of rum mugs on one hand. Ragetti hurried after her without hesitation.

"Oi, miss!" he called anxiously. "Did yeh sees an old bald fellow sittin' 'ere lately? Behind them barrels?"

The woman paused lazily to glance back at the spot where he pointed. "Aye, there was a fellow there b'fore." She didn't seem to notice Ragetti's fretting at all.

"Where'd 'e go?" the thin man demanded.

She nodded towards the hallway entrance that led to the inn rooms. "I think 'e went in there couple a' minutes ago. Maybe sooner'n that."

Ragetti didn't give her another glance as he took off towards the hallway entrance. The passage that it led into was dark and narrow, but he'd been through it so many times that he hardly needed one eye to navigate through it. In a matter of seconds, he found himself standing in front of the door to his and Pintel's room.

It was the only possible place. Pinters wouldn't have known anywhere else to go in the area—if he'd even wandered off on his own. A shiver ran down Ragetti's back at the thought of those two filthy taunters. He'd been outside long enough for them to catch up to their helpless target…

The dreadful idea was quickly cast aside. Ragetti bit his lip as he reached up and swung the door open. The sight that greeted him was both a relief and a shock.

There was Pintel, alive and unhurt, lying face-up on his cot in an exhausted heap.

Just like that, every last question in Ragetti's head was forgotten. He rushed into the room, and after a moment of juggling his thoughts, he managed to speak.

"Pinters? What're yeh doin'? It ain't that late yet."

The other pirate says nothing, as if he begged to differ. Ragetti stiffly sat down on the edge of the cot and reached back to nudge one of those leathery hands with the tips of his long fingers. It was like he was afraid to touch Pintel.

That was when his uncle did decide to talk.

"Wot's the first fing you wanna do…"

Ragetti lifted his head to meet that empty gaze. "…What?"

Pintel continued, oblivious "…When the…curse is lifted?"

Another knot formed in his aid's throat when he realized what was going on. "I dunno," the youth answered quietly after a heavy pause. "…Don't 'fink I ever got to do it though."

Surprisingly, this earned a small shrug from Pintel. "We got time," he murmured casually. "Got that Turner whelp…the medallion. All we…gotta do is…find that island again…Gonna…need oars—"

"Stop it." This was getting to be too much for Ragetti. "Pinters, just stop it. We ain't cursed no more." He tried his best to swallow back his fear. "We ain't immortal…"

A strange expression passed over Pintel's face as these blunt words sank in. The stocky man said nothing for almost a minute, then he dawned a frown of bottomless disappointment. After all that excitement, he'd forgotten the big moment that he thought he was waiting for.

"…Wot was the first 'fing _I_ wanted t'do?" he asked oddly.

Ragetti was a little caught off guard to say the least. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a legitimate conversation with his companion. "Yeh didn't get to do it either," he replied flatly.

Pintel arched his eyebrows in a second, motionless shrug. "There's still time. Ain't there?" The younger pirate's silence was enough of an answer. "…Blighters."

For a while, they were both silent. Ragetti continued to stare into his charge's eyes in search of something, but he soon broke contact and looked down at their barely touching hands. His mind began to churn as he reflected on those mumbled words.

They'd lost ten years to that awful curse. Ten precious years, and for what? A lousy pile of treasure that they never got to spend a cent of. Ragetti frowned at this realization. It seemed like he and Pintel had spent their entire lives chasing after those silly "golden opportunities," and now here they were, all but stranded on this derelict island with hardly a shilling to their names.

"Pinters?" he asked his uncle just then. "Does yeh ever feel like…like yeh wasted your life? Wif bein' a pirate?"

"What life?" Pintel asked as he studied the ceiling. "It was either pirate or dead."

Ragetti fixed his gaze back on that scruffy face. "So…so bein' a pirate means bein' alive to yeh?"

"I guess. Or at least…pretendin' you've got a life, wif a purpose an' all…" For the first time that day, Pintel shifted his head to meet Ragetti's eye. "Why're yeh askin' all these fings?"

His skinny mate shrank back timidly from his stare. "Well…I…I dunno." The lad stopped again to gather his scattered thoughts. "When I were a kid…I said yer sister were like a pirate, and you got mad and said I shouldn't compare 'er to one. What exactly does "pirate" _mean_ to you?"

It was a question that Pintel hadn't been expecting, and his puzzled face showed it. Several more seconds passed before anything else was said, then at long last, the former captain replied.

"…It means someone strong. Someone who can make sumfin' out of their miserable life instead of mopin' 'bout it forever. I guess…someone who ain't afraid a' makin' changes."

Now Ragetti was the puzzled one. He took in every bit of Pintel's response, clinging to each word like he was trying to solve a riddle, and absently lowered his head to make sense of it all. It wasn't long before something occurred to him, and he looked up once more.

"So we weren't really pirates until five years ago," he said breathlessly.

Pintel blinked slowly. "Wot 'appened five years ago?"

Ragetti edged closer, positive that he understood everything. "We decided not to run away anymore. We decided on sumfin' t'fight and die for, and then we did it."

"We did?"

"Yeah—well, no, not all of it. We were _goin'_ to, but we realized we didn't 'ave t'just give up like that after all. We weren't afraid no more, we made changes! And we found a better reason to keep goin'!"

"What _was_ that reason?" Pintel asked wearily.

Ragetti's look turned inwards as it all came back to him. "…It was for two people who didn't mean much to the rest of the world."

"Like us."

The thinner man nodded slightly. "…Like us."

Pintel paused to dwell on this, then a curious light flickered in his eyes. A spark of that old flame had come back to him. Glowing with amusement, he gazed up at Ragetti again.

"Look at that. Little Rags is all grown up."

Ragetti felt Pintel's hand move out from under his right then, and before he could turn around, that rough palm was playfully nudging against the side of his head. He smiled at this unexpected gesture, but he felt a stinging pain in his throat that made his eye blur.

"I'm still Rags though," he pointed out. His quivering voice was almost a whisper. "I'm just a little taller now." He spoke up again in a softer voice. "I'm still your nephew, Pinters."

This had the most unexpected reaction of all. Pintel said nothing at first, then a deep, baffled shadow gradually passed over his face as he lowered his hand. He was looking up at Ragetti like he'd never seen him before. "…My nephew?"

And then his expression faded.

Ragetti could almost feel his heart sink. No. This couldn't be real…

"...Pinters?" He reached out to shake his uncle lightly. "Pinters. It's me, Ragetti. Yer nephew. Rags."

His nervous coaxing did nothing to change Pintel's blank stare. A terrible possibility was starting to brew in the back of Ragetti's mind, but he fearfully ignored it and kept trying for an answer. "...I'm yer nephew. Yer sister's son..." He pointed a trembling finger at himself. "R-Ragetti. ...That's what you called me. That's what you said me name was. ...Uncle Pinters?"

There was still no response. Pintel was staring straight up at nothing, and there wasn't a hint of recognition or emotion on his dull face. Unable to form another word, Ragetti winked back foggy tears and slowly lifted his hand. It seemed like ages before he had the courage to wave it in front of Pintel's eyes.

The other pirate never blinked once.

Ragetti gasped and cupped his hand over his mouth. Then the tears returned with a vengeance.

"PINTEL!"

He seized his older friend by the shoulders and practically screamed in his face. This couldn't be happening. He refused to admit that it was!

"NO! Uncle Pintel! Come back! I ain't angry at yeh! I—" Ragetti dropped his head as he choked on his grief. "…I don't know what to do, Pinters..."

There was no more denying it. Pintel was gone, and no amount of shouting or begging could change that.

Ragetti let his vision grow hazy as he gazed down at his lifeless mentor. Everything in his head seemed to slow to a crawl right then, and for a long while, the one-eyed pirate felt frozen in time with nothing but his pain.

Suddenly, a thought reemerged. A memory.

It was almost too vivid to be in the past. Ragetti was below deck on the _Black Pearl_, crouched next to a dripping wet canon and gawking directly at Pintel on the other side of it. They were a pair of rattled messes, but they were slowly becoming at peace with whatever end the raging battle and maelstrom outside were about to bring them.

"I didn't fink we'd go this way," the younger gunner said flatly.

His fellow crewman laughed. "We're bloody pirates! Wot other way'd you expect us to go? As a couple a' old land rats on our deaf'beds?"

The grim joke echoed over and over in Ragetti's mind now, haunting him as he watched over his uncle's body.

And that was what finally broke him.

A horrible sob tore through the man. Tears finally spilled out and rolled down Ragetti's cheeks, and he let out a second, louder cry from the overwhelming tightness in his throat. He teetered back and forth on the edge of the cot for a minute, then with the last of his strength, he tipped forward and laid his head on Pintel's chest. Another sob shuddered through his thin frame as he slumped there, grasping one of those faded blue sleeves for whatever reassurance he could find.

Pintel was gone.

And he, Ragetti, had been too late to save him.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Soon to be updated)


	25. Misery and Hope

(Disclaimer: don't own it.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

There was nothing but misery now.

Ragetti slowly blinked his heavy lids and continued to stare at the muck below him, ignoring the splintery wooden boards scraping against him back. Discomfort didn't faze him anymore.

The morning after Pintel's death had been almost as heart-wrenching as the loss itself. Ragetti'd clung to that ratty sleeve for hours, and after wrestling with his emotions the entire night, he'd somehow managed to accept the tragedy and finally close his uncle's eyes. That empty, lifeless gaze was just one of many things that would come to haunt him over the next three days.

A sharp growl sounded out from Ragetti's stomach right then, shattering his silent reflection. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything; rum was the only thing he'd bothered spending his money on lately. Even his daily rent at the Salty Sea Dragon had become a distant second priority, and that was why the gaunt pirate currently found himself slouched against the outside of the building on the fourth morning with a half-emptied mug between his knees.

Pintel's "funeral" had turned out to be no better than Gibbs's. Just because a sailor died on land didn't mean he'd be laid to rest there; with no place or time to properly bury the body, the two innkeepers had simply wrapped Pintel in an old cotton blanket and dropped him into the harbor. Ragetti'd been too beside himself to do anything but watch them. Now the only trace of Pinters he had left was the other pirate's jacket, which he'd traded in his green waistcoat for without a thought. The strange security that the weathered blue garment provided was the only thing remotely holding him together anymore.

Ragetti grimaced at this bitter fact and gloomily emptied his rum mug in one swig. He didn't care one bit that he was, essentially, killing himself with these drinks. Pintel'd tried to murder his own sister and an unborn infant—a self-inflicted death from alcohol was probably the only chance his nephew had of following him to where he'd been sent.

How could it have come to this? Ragetti'd thought for sure he'd be able to save their immortal souls after finding that Bible in Port Royal. He'd even tried to turn Pintel from that sinful path, but in the end, he'd only let himself be turned back towards it.

The lonely buccaneer sagged to one side and touched his forehead to the side of the inn. Maybe they never had a chance of avoiding Old Hob at all.

A short distance away from this dreary scene, two other men trekked gracelessly down the muddy road side by side. It was plain from their fresh clothes and clean faces that neither one was a pirate. It was even plainer from their sour expressions that they weren't planning to join the trade either.

"Blimey, what a sad establishment," the younger of the two grumbled. "It's a wonder this island can hold itself up anymore!"

"Well it was either this port or none at all," his companion pointed out bluntly. This second man's wide-brimmed hat and dark maroon jacket were obvious signs of his higher authority. "We're in for one devil of a voyage and we need all the supplies we can get."

"We're taking the longer route, then?"

"It's not worth the risk, taking the short way to the Cape." The older sailor shot a furtive glance at the handful of pirates around them and lowered his voice. "Any route that's inconvenient for us is also inconvenient for this lot."

"But it might not be that bad anymore," his underling offered. "The Navy's been patrolling all these waters a lot more than what's normal lately. They're clearing things up."

"Aye, but there's still the _Black Pearl_."

Ragetti suddenly perked up at this. The _Black Pearl_? Just like that, he was freed from his miserable trance and focusing his attention on those two fellows.

The leader of the pair went on, unaware of their eavesdropper. "No Naval ship'll ever get the best of _her_. And plenty've tried. If the story's true, sailing a straight course could send us right into the lion's den with her."

It was like a flash had gone off in Ragetti's head. These men had heard talk of the _Black Pearl, _and from the sound of things, they knew exactly where it was located. The chances of him gaining and using that inform were slim at best, but a small, still hopeful part of the pirate felt that things might turn out alright if he could just find that famous vessel again. Of course, if he failed trying…that might be alright too. The only thing Ragetti knew for sure was that there was nothing left for him on Tortuga.

The two fellows crept into his sight as they trudged past the Dragon, no more than a few steps away from the ramshackle inn. It was now or never.

Sucking in a nervous breath, the buccaneer stumbled onto his wobbly feet and took off in pursuit. "Wait!"

The younger man did a double take and recoiled when he saw the wild-eyed stranger running towards him. His more experienced companion just straightened up and squared his jaw distastefully.

"Wait," Ragetti called again more softly.

"If it's shillings you're looking for, we haven't any to spare," the older man said bluntly.

The derelict swashbuckler let this comment go. "You said sumfin' 'bout the _Black Pearl_. You've 'eard of it?"

"Of course. The ship's practically legend."

"And yeh knows where it is?"

Now the authority figure was starting to edge back as well. "I've only heard tales from other ships who've seen her, but they've been plenty."

Ragetti stepped closer, growing anxious. "Where does they say it is?"

"The south Atlantic." The maroon-clad fellow was already pushing his way forward without looking back. His antsy mate was close in tow. "Around an island. Now if I may—"

"Please, I needs t'find it!"

The words came out a little more desperately than Ragetti'd meant for them too. This seemed to work to his benefit though, because the two sailors stopped and turned back towards him just then. Seeing that he'd earned their attention for a few more seconds, the pirate continued.

"I mean…I _wants_ to. I used to be part of the crew."

The pair traded questioning looks, then the leader came forward with a face of stone. Ragetti couldn't help shrinking back a little at the sight of him.

"For how long?" the man asked firmly.

Those bony hands started fidgeting at this sudden interrogation. "…At least ten years. Only left 'ere wifout me 'bout four months ago."

The other arched his eyebrows wryly. "Any reason why?"

Ragetti glumly let his gaze drift to the ground. "I 'ad t'stay behind fer sumfin'."

"So you left on good terms?"

"Aye."

The leader shifted his feet and glanced down in thought. He was obviously reluctant to keep this exchange going, but something from the man's proper upbringing told him to be charitable right then. Straightening himself out, he stepped closer and met the grimy buccaneer's eye again.

"They call the island Anchor's Edge. It's small, sparsely populated…a pirate settlement. Word is the _Black Pearl_'s been making frequent trips there. At least twice in the last few months."

"I've heard it's right south of a volcano," the younger sailor added with subdued excitement. He was still trying to keep his distance from the conversation. "A real big one. They say it claims a dozen vessels every year."

Ragetti stood up straight himself then. "Shipwreck Island?"

The younger sailor quickly fell silent and began admiring an abandoned supply cart off to his left. His superior leaned to the side to block him from the one-eyed pirate's view.

"Is that all you'll be needing?" he asked less patiently.

It took Ragetti a moment to answer this. A sickening knot twisted in his stomach and he nervously fixed his eye on his mud-caked shoes. It would've taken ten times the courage he had to make his next request face-to-face.

"Actually…I was hopin' I could…go there wif you."

The older man let out a dry laugh when he saw the whelp was serious. "You'd best keep to asking small favors, lad," he said softly. With that, he turned back to his younger comrade and set off, leaving Ragetti to reflect on what'd been said.

And that was precisely what the gloomy lank did.

"But…wait." He lifted his head as the sailors stopped and glanced over their shoulders at him again. "Why'd yeh ask me all them fings b'fore? About leavin' the _Pearl_ on good terms? …You was 'finkin' of askin' me on board yerself."

The leader turned to directly face him once more, confirming this thought. "And what if I did ask? Supposing we sail all the way down to that island and run straight into the _Black Pearl_? What happens then?"

"I can tell the crew t'let yeh go," Ragetti quietly insisted.

"Nonsense. That ship'll have us sunk to the bottom before she ever gets within earshot."

"No she won't. The _Pearl_ don't 'ave no chaser guns on the bow or stern. She'd 'ave teh pull up alongside yeh t'fire, and I could talk to th'crew easy then. You'd be able t'take the short route wifout a problem."

The jacketed old sailor gazed at Ragetti for what felt like centuries, then finally coming to a decision, he strode up to the weary pirate for the last time.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Ragetti."

"And all you'll be wanting is straight passage to Anchor's Edge?"

"Aye."

The man nodded, and donning a wisp of a smile, he reached out and shook on the deal.

"I'm Captain Dunning. Welcome aboard the Concorde Trader, Mister Ragetti."

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Soon to be updated)


	26. Boarding the Concorde

(Disclaimer: don't own it.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Captain Dunning's explanation was swift and sketchy, but Ragetti'd gathered from the hurried rambling that the _Concorde Trader_ was setting a course for a port called the Cape of Good Hope. The one-eyed pirate had never been literate enough to read a navigational chart, but he seemed to recall the Cape being on the southern tip of Africa. That hardly mattered though—Dunning could sail straight to the South Pole for all Ragetti cared as long as he passed Anchor's Edge on the way.

Minutes after their first meeting, the mismatched trio found themselves walking along the rickety wooden planks of Tortuga's docks. Ragetti quietly fell into step behind Dunning and the younger crewman as they proceeded down the line of ships. It was a routine that every smart buccaneer went through on a daily basis: tell the captain what you wanted, shut up afterwards, do exactly as you were told, and you'd eventually get it. This strategy was simple but effective, and it was the only thing stopping Ragetti from mumbling a list of nervous questions about the _Concorde_'s voyage right then.

Dunning's pace slowed as they neared a modest two-mast schooner. "Baines," he said with a sideward glance at his younger comrade. "Go on ahead and tell Mr. Gareth we're taking the shorter route."

The younger sailor, Baines, came to an urgent halt. "What if he asks why?"

The captain shrugged bluntly. "Then tell him why."

Baines nodded his curly black head and hurried off towards the schooner without another thought. That was when Dunning turned to Ragetti.

"I don't mean to assume things, but you don't look like the type who's sailed on many a merchant ship before."

The pirate frowned slightly and sagged his shoulders. "No sir. I ain't." There was something about Dunning's clipped tone that made him feel ashamed of this.

"Then there's a few things you'd best keep in mind." Both men resumed walking as the debriefing continued. "Firstly, don't make a spectacle of yourself. The lads are superstitious enough without some mad scalawag on board to put them on edge. You want to sail on a civilized ship, you'll act like a civilized man. Secondly, you pull your weight on this venture, and it'll go a lot quicker for everyone. We have no time for slackers. And thirdly, there'll be no rum pots on my ship!"

Dunning glared firmly at his new recruit as he laid down this last rule. He certainly hadn't missed that thick, bitter smell on Ragetti's breath. "I don't know what habit you've made with that filthy drink, boy, but I won't tolerate it. We've got a rough voyage ahead and every man'll need his wits about him. Understand?"

Ragetti nodded glumly and tried to ignore just how many things Dunning _was_ assuming with that harsh rundown. This merchant captain had clearly, in turn, never sailed on many a pirate ship before; he would've found out how quickly that lazy drunkard disposition vanished at sea if he'd bothered looking. Even so, the thin swashbuckler answered him with a dejected "Aye, sir."

Dunning returned the nod with satisfaction. "Alright then. I'll show you aboard." With that, he cut a left onto the schooner's loading ramp and gestured for his awkward protégée to follow.

Part of Ragetti couldn't help but feel surprised. In all his years of sailing, he'd never seen such a spotless ship. The _Concorde Trader_ was incredibly plain compared to most of the ornate pirate and Naval vessels he'd come across, and that plainness was emphasized all the more by its pristine condition. No faded colors in the flags or paint schemes—everything here was sharp and bright. No weathered and warped side planks either—these seamless boards barely even looked like they were made of wood. If he hadn't already known she'd traveled here from a merchant port, Ragetti would've bet a whole bag of shillings that the _Concorde_ was still preparing for her maiden voyage.

He glanced over and absently dragged his gaze across the ship's white and auburn side. No doubt, it'd done wonders for the little schooner's appearance to stay clear of sea battles. He'd lost count of how many times the_ Black Pearl_ had needed patched up over the years_._

The _Concorde_'s captain finally reached the top of the ramp and stepped onto the main deck of his vessel. Ragetti continued after him without a thought.

And that was when he got a _real_ surprise.

The _Concorde Trader_ was even more organized on board than it looked from the docks, overwhelmingly so. Every crate, sack, and barrel in sight was lined and stacked in perfect order. Instead of being scattered around in knotted bundles, the unused rope lengths lay in neat coils at the foot of each mast. And then there were the lanterns, all identical, which hung from the rails and edges of the quarterdeck without any smudges or cracks on their glass. Most of the _Pearl_'s lanterns were rusty and mismatched antiques that dangled anywhere they could be hung from. They were all flaws that Ragetti'd never noticed before, now made shockingly clear by this immaculate deck.

But as much as the ship was to behold, its crewmen were ten times more eye-opening as they hurried about on duty. The first thing that stood out to the buccaneer were their clothes; these fellows weren't dressed in blazing uniforms like those stiff Navy soldiers, but there was still an odd consistency to all of their garments. It only took a moment of gawking around at them all to realize that this consistency was dullness. No glittering jewelry or fancy weapons, no wildly colored jackets or bandannas. In fact, the _Concorde_'s crew didn't boast much color at all in their clothing. There was nothing but brown, white, and gray in every drab stitch.

This discovery prompted Ragetti to glimpse bleakly down at his own outfit. It was going to be hard not to make a spectacle of himself in a blue coat, red shirt, and bright green pants.

It was only then that the pirate realized he'd stopped walking. The sight of this warped reality had left him rooted to the loading ramp, and it wasn't long before his delay caught Dunning's attention.

"Come on, boy!" he called back with a sharp wave of his arm. "You'll be swimming the whole way if you don't move!"

In the end, this boisterous suggestion only caused further delay, as almost every crewman near Dunning abruptly turned their attention to the gawky stranger on the ramp. Ragetti immediately recoiled from the twenty-some more eyes that were suddenly fixed on him. Even from this far back, he could see the confused scrutiny on each of their faces and knew that they were all wondering the same two things: what was this grubby little "local" doing here, and was he actually going to set foot on their ship? Worse yet, he noticed the whole cluster of them physically tensing up in suspense over the latter question. It didn't take a scholar to tell that they were already expecting a disaster from him.

The whole situation was mind-boggling to say the least. Ragetti couldn't recall a single instance before this where someone was genuinely afraid of him. He'd always been too flimsy and jittery to really look threatening, and Pintel'd usually been enough of a hell-raiser for both of them. Now that the awkward blonde was single-handedly putting off enough men to fill a longboat, he realized that he didn't like it one bit. He was hunched over and nervously wringing his hands in a matter of seconds.

This was the last thing Dunning had time for. "For the love of king and country, lad! Put a leg up!"

His impatient tone was enough to jolt Ragetti forward. The pirate sprang towards his new commander like a scolded puppy, then came to another dead halt when he realized he'd just taken his first steps onto the _Concorde_. Surprisingly enough, it felt no different from stepping onto any other ship, and it only took him a moment to understand why. No pirate vessel had ever been built for a buccaneer crew; they'd all been stolen from soldiers and merchants. A ship was a ship—it was the men on board that made it anything more. Unfortunately, those exact men and their hawk-like eyes were currently distracting Ragetti from this comforting notion.

The scrawny sailor gulped at their burning stares and forced himself to take another step. There was no turning back at this point. He'd become an important asset to the _Concorde Trader's _captain, and whether he liked it or not, that made him as much a crewmember as any of these other fellows. His job now was to blend in with that group as best as he could. Ragetti dropped his fidgeting hands to his sides with some hesitation and straightened up like he was standing at attention. None of the deckhands watching him were nervous slouchers. That must've only been a pirate trait.

He kept up this rigid march until Dunning and the rest of his spectators lost interest in him, a feat that lasted for several minutes. As soon as he was clear, Ragetti launched a new tactic and hurried out of sight behind a row of those neatly stacked crates. It wasn't much of a hiding place, but at least his back was covered. The youth gladly slumped against his wooden fortress then, and with no one around to see him, he took that moment to retrieve something from one of his jacket pockets: his wood carving.

The half-complete figurine looked no different than it had four months ago. Ragetti hadn't forgotten about it, but he'd never had time to work on it since he'd left the _Black Pearl_. He'd had to drop his artistic hobby by the wayside in order to properly look after Pinters. Now though…

His eye shifted gloomily to the deck as his thoughts trailed off, then he slipped the carving back into his pocket—Pintel's pocket.

Not now. Ragetti didn't want to do anything now but hide here, where at least half of those judgmental merchants couldn't see him. The voyage to Anchor's Edge would probably take two weeks at the very least anyway. That would give him plenty of time to finish carving. Besides, sitting alone and quietly whittling a wooden block would be the perfect way to lie low and keep Captain Dunning happy, and that was what really mattered.

After all, his entire life was riding on Dunning now.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Soon to be updated)


	27. Schemer at Heart

(Disclaimer: don't own it.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

"Keep the topsail tied, boys! We don't want to move too fast in this fading light!"

The handful of crewmen stationed high above Dunning heard his order and obligingly continued to secure the rolled up canvass to its mast yard. The sun was setting rapidly over the Atlantic, and a vessel as small as the _Concorde Trader_ had to be careful. The crew would eventually drop anchor for the night, especially now that they'd set a shorter course and could afford to take their time, but no one was ready to call it quits yet while there was still some light clinging to the sky.

Ragetti paid no mind to the scene around him as he coiled a length of rope by the port rail. The more he ignored these men, the more likely they'd be to eventually ignore him back.

It'd been three days since the departure from Tortuga, and the one-eyed pirate was already starting to regret leaving. His fellow travelers had made it perfectly clear to him that he wasn't welcome on board; their guarded stares and the considerable distance they kept from him made this voyage feel even colder than the one to Davy Jones's Locker.

Ragetti'd also given up hope of sleeping below deck. The first night he'd tried it, the rest of the crew had made such a frenzied protest that Dunning had personally asked him to stay on the main deck. Now the pitiful outsider spent his nights curled up by the foot of the mast, waiting to fall asleep. He was too afraid to pass that time working on his wood carving, as a pair of crewmen stood at the helm on watch duty every night. Only the devil knew what would happen if they found out he had a knife on him.

It was the cruelest irony imaginable. Instead of giving the ultimate sense of freedom, sailing had just become another prison.

Far behind Ragetti, Dunning squinted forward from his place at the wheel. "Baines! Look alive up there!"

The younger sailor whirled around at the sound of his name. He was standing at the _Concorde_'s bow with a lantern in hand to search for oncoming obstacles, but it was becoming more and more difficult to make out his short and wiry shape across the deck. Baines quickly held up his lantern and pointed to it in response.

"The light's almost burned out, captain!" he called back.

Dunning frowned and scanned his other crewmen until he spotted the least occupied-looking one. "Mister Ragetti! Grab a fresh lantern and run it up to Baines."

The buccaneer automatically dropped his rope bundle and grabbed the nearest replacement light. Without so much as a word to his new commander, he turned and mindlessly made his way to the bow to deliver the device. Baines accepted it with an edgy nod and swiftly handed off his much dimmer one. Ragetti withheld a weary sigh as he took the useless lantern. That jumpy little bigmouth didn't know how lucky he and all his mates were—their captain could've easily brought a pirate like Barbossa on board instead of a lowly deckswabber.

Still too glum to voice his thoughts, Ragetti took a few sidesteps around the base of the bowsprit and glanced down at the water directly below them. There was always something strangely calming about those lapping ocean waves that held his attention, even when he was far too busy to waste time watching them. It was a numbing experience, one that he welcomed now more than ever, and so the thin pirate stayed where he was and continued staring into that black abyss.

But a few minutes later, he saw more than just water down there.

Ragetti blinked oddly and leaned closer. He'd caught a glimpse of something smooth and flat among those waves. Straining his one eye to see through the dark, he leaned out just a little further and held up Baines's old lantern for help. Sure enough, the dim light was greeted by an equally faint glow, and the curious youth was able to make out the shape of a perfect oval. The mystery object was a wall mirror floating face-up on its wooden frame.

It wasn't long before the antsy Baines peeked over at Ragetti again and noticed his puzzled expression. "What is it?" asked tensely. When he failed to receive an answer, he also crept over to the right side of the bowsprit and followed the taller man's gaze down. The pair traded questioning looks at the sight of the mirror, then turned their sights towards the starboard rail. The wayward looking-glass had clearly drifted over from that direction. Baines slowly lifted his lantern as he led the way across the deck…

And then they spotted the source.

"Captain!" Baines shouted. "Ahead off the starboard side! Come quick!"

The other crewmen were like a flock of gulls on a dead whale. Before Ragetti could even get out a word of his own, he was surrounded by the nosy hoard. There was nothing he could do at that point but cling to the rail in silence and keep his back turned to the crowd.

Dunning came wading through his gathering men a moment later and placed himself between Ragetti and Baines. As soon as he saw the cause for the commotion, a grim cloud passed over his face.

It was a shipwreck. The unlucky vessel lay on its side half submerged, and an array of splintery battle scars was visible on its exposed portion. There was no mistaking what had created those gaping round holes; this ship had found its way into a cannon fight and been completely butchered. It was clear from the eerie stillness surrounding the wreck that there weren't any survivors to be found. It was a floating tomb.

On board the _Concorde_, the crew's intrigue had turned to shock. A heavy but sharp-eyed man named Kint was the first to speak up. "What did this?" His voice was barely more than a stunned whisper.

Dunning leaned back from the rail with sullen reluctance. He knew the answer to that question all too well. "Pirates."

Worried murmurs rose up from the rest of the crewmembers. Ragetti immediately turned to gaze at Dunning, but the captain refused to meet his eye. The old commander could only stare morosely at that ruined ship as he said his next words. "We're in dangerous waters."

He lifted his eyes to glare into the darkness ahead then, and it became apparent how disgusted he was with himself. Ragetti began to stiffen with dread when he saw this.

Baines was also watching the captain intently. "…What do we do now?"

But Dunning continued glowering deep into the empty air without a word, completely and utterly sickened by what he'd almost allowed to happen.

…………………

"Yeh can't do this!"

"We're heading straight into a slaughter field," the captain retaliated as he stormed down the steps below deck. "It makes no difference whether or not you've got sway with the _Black Pearl_ anymore, because some other band of pirates will sink us long before we ever find her! First thing tomorrow, we're sailing to the nearest port and taking the long way to the Cape!"

Ragetti followed him down without hesitation. He was far too desperate to be reasoned with now. "But yeh promised yeh'd take me teh Anchor's Edge! Yeh _promised_!"

Dunning came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and spun around to face Ragetti. The unexpected move almost sent the swashbuckler tumbling the rest of the way to the floor. "I did no such thing! I made an agreement solely to benefit my crew and my ship, and now that both are at stake, I'm reneging."

"_But you can't DO that!!_" Ragetti wailed. Dunning had given his word! No captain would give his word and then just take it back like this! No _pirate_ captain ever would!

"_Yes I can, Pirate!_" the older sailor roared back. "This is my ship and I have the final word on where she goes! And I'm not risking the lives of fifty-three men for one small favor! I should burn in hell for even taking it _this_ far!"

These last words were enough to bring tears to Ragetti's eyes. "Don't say that!" he sobbed. Just the thought of that horrible place felt like a knife through his heart these days. He swayed as his legs buckled underneath him, then he clutched the stair railing and sank onto the steps in his grief. "What am I s'posed t'do now?"

Dunning glared down at the pathetic figure without a hint of remorse. "Either get used to living on the _Concorde_ or get used to the South American coast." Then with that, he turned and trudged out of the room without so much as a nod to his unwanted recruit.

For several minutes, Ragetti stayed slumped on the stairs in his pitiful state. He'd had mixed feelings about the journey to Anchor's Edge from the very beginning, even to the point that he didn't mind dying along the way. Only now, when every chance of reaching that island had been snatched away from him, did he realize just how badly he'd really wanted to find it. That reunion with the _Black Pearl_ had been his only hope for rebuilding his life, and as he felt it crumbling and fading away, a bleak understanding came over Ragetti. This was it. He had no life left to rebuild.

The emaciated man reached into his pocket and halfheartedly retrieved his carving knife. Did he even have enough will to use it on himself? He doubted that. He was too much of a coward to try it anyway. After another moment of toying with this impossible idea, Ragetti sighed and lowered the blade.

He could almost hear his father's words echoing in his head: "Two apples don't mean much to the rest of the orchard."

Ragetti frowned at this bitter truth. Captain Dunning hadn't cared about him, and definitely wouldn't have cared to know about Pintel. That merchant was only concerned with the big picture, taking his shipments to the next port and having a full crew to get him there. What did one sad little sea rat and his dead uncle matter? Two people meant nothing to the rest of the world.

It stung Ragetti's throat to admit that, but right then, something else occurred to him. A change began to come over him, a stunned reaction that slowly made him stop trembling and silenced his sobs. As soon as this new emotion had taken full effect, a third started to take its place. He felt angry suddenly, angry at Dunning and angry at himself. And then there was another anger, a faint, barely existing resentment towards poor Oscar for ever saying that dreary metaphor aloud. Ragetti swallowed hard, then with every strand of courage he did have, he spoke.

"Maybe not," he murmured to himself, "…but they mean the world to each other."

Pintel had loved his life at sea more than anything, but he'd given it up in a heartbeat to keep his nephew safe. Ragetti couldn't just forget that and give up. If anything, he should have wanted to live more than ever now, to give meaning to that sacrifice. Finding the _Black Pearl_ wasn't some feeble excuse to postpone dying. It was a way to honor his uncle's memory and show him the gratitude he deserved! He was doing this for Pintel as much as for himself!

Ragetti clenched his jaw decisively and lifted his gaze to the empty doorway that Dunning had exited through. A dastardly gleam appeared in his blue eye, and he immediately jammed his knife back into his pocket. Then he stood and marched back up the stairs.

It was Dunning's turn to get used to something.

…………………

The _Concorde Trader_'s crew had dropped anchor twenty minutes ago and were already starting to turn in for the evening. The only signs of them left on deck were tonight's designated watchmen and a handful of others who were staying up late for a chat. All of the tiny group's members were milling around the bow of the ship.

That was fine with Ragetti, since the _Concorde_'s longboats were located at the stern.

He'd never been so grateful for darkness. It made a real chore out of rigging and lowering the boat, but at least it gave him the cover he needed. He had his little escape vessel positioned and ready to board in less than seven minutes.

The lanky schemer eyed his work with satisfaction and reached out to steady the swinging boat. As soon as he did though, the pair of oars inside it slid forward and thumped against one of its wooden sides. Ragetti wobbled from this slight momentum and winced when he heard the entire boat bump against the ship's rail then. Quickly ignoring it, he steadied the wooden structure with both hands and prepared himself to climb in.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who'd heard that bump.

"Oi!"

Ragetti snapped his head around and froze. Baines was standing behind him at the front of the quarterdeck with eyes the size of tea saucers.

No time to waste. The buccaneer turned away with a deep breath and hoisted himself over the rail and into the longboat. He barely landed before he grabbed the ropes to lower himself. This was still going to work.

Baines barely avoided a collision with the steering wheel as he stumbled across the deck. "What are you doing?!"

Just like that, Ragetti found time to waste. He stopped yanking the ropes just long enough to sneer at Baines and shout, "Stealin' this boat!" right back at him.

The curly-haired crewman jumped back against the wheel. "CAPTAIN! He's making a break! Kint! Smitty!"

On that amusing note, Ragetti proceeded with his escape. This would all be behind him in a matter of minutes. He just had to keep moving. Freedom was only waiting a few meters below him…

Heavy footfalls overhead alerted him to the arrival of more crewmen. Even then, he tried to stay focused and ignore how slowly the boat was lowering. It wasn't until he heard an unpleasantly familiar voice that the renegade sailor spared an upward glance.

"Haul that longboat back up here right now Mister Ragetti!" Dunning shouted down hotly. "You only get one warning!"

But this was only further incentive for the bony rebel to keep moving towards the water. Dunning and his pack of ninnies would be gone from his mind in no time. The situation was becoming more and more promising with each tug on the ropes, but just then, the _Concorde_'s captain decided to carry out his threat. He looked back over his shoulder at his anxious crew and bluntly gave the order.

"Muskets!"

This earned a more noticeable reaction from Ragetti, who fumbled with the ropes and gawked up at the rail with eyes wider than Baines's. Four crewmen leaned out to greet him with their gun barrels a second later.

BANG! BANG!

_SNAP!_

And then the world went vertical. Ragetti yelped and clung to the edge of the longboat as one of the ropes broke from its pulley, letting the back end of the tiny vessel drop. There was an unpleasant splash as the two oars tumbled overboard and into the water, and still the firing continued.

BANG! BANG!

Now he was _really_ grateful for the darkness. Those "shooters" might as well have been aiming with their eyes closed out here!

Ragetti's legs were running frantically in midair as he squinted at the other rope holding him up. He'd lost track of his sword and pistol long before he'd left Tortuga; he'd have to cut the bugger with his knife. Cringing, he managed to place one foot on the side of the boat's bench and boost himself towards the skyward-facing front end. Then he threw an arm around that triangular peak and fished out his blade with the other hand. _He was still alive! He was still alive!_

The firing began to die down above him—the crewmen were reloading. This was exactly the break Ragetti needed to start sawing at his last tether. As he laid into that final task, Dunning also took this time to lean over the rail and address him once more.

"You filthy, lying, thieving little bastard!"

The blonde met his harsh glare brightly. "I prefers 'pirate' actually!"

_SNAP!_

SPLASH!!

It was sheer luck that the boat landed upright on the water, but that wasn't enough to keep its passenger from being thrown out by the impact. Ragetti hit the waves thrashing and was able to latch onto the edge of his wooden transport, this time from the outside. He made sure to keep his head down though.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

_Start kicking! Stay low! Start kicking! Stay low!_

The buccaneer was practically guzzling saltwater as he tried to drag himself and the longboat out of range. His left arm came down on one of the missing oars as he floundered about, and panicked glee covered his face as he tried to juggle it back and forth with his knife and the boat. The sharp _sploosh!_ of musket shots hitting the water around him fueled his anxious getaway all the more.

Then a few seconds later, it was over.

Dunning scowled at the retreating pirate and called a final order back to his men.

"Save your amo! If he wants to die in the middle of nowhere, let him." The captain glanced out at that bobbing silhouette once more as he passed this godlike sentence. "He won't last three days."

Having said that, the red-clad commander turned and quietly strode back through the swarm of crewmen and down the steps to the main deck. Not knowing what else to do, the other sailors traded baffled looks and followed him. The easing tension on their faces showed that each of them was perfectly content to forget that pirate right on the spot.

Ragetti stopped paddling and peeked up over the side of his longboat. There wasn't a single crewmember to be seen at the stern anymore. It took several moments for him to realize his success, but once he did, an enormous grin split his lips and he instantly burst out laughing.

"HA-_HAAAAAA!_" he howled as he drummed on the boat with his knife and oar. "AYE! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

He'd pulled it off. He'd actually done it! He'd thrown piracy right in their whimpering faces and jumped ship! And he'd _survived!_ HA HA!

There wasn't much of an inventory to take after the celebration. One boat, one oar, one knife, and one half-finished wood carving. No food or water. Ragetti also had no chart or compass to tell him where he was going, but the stars above looked like they'd give promising directions. At any rate, he knew which way the _Concorde_ had been heading before she'd stumbled across the shipwreck. That was the only heading he needed.

The proud swashbuckler was still beaming as he threw one leg over the side of the boat and pulled himself aboard. Once he was settled in on the wooden bench, he took up the oar and blissfully dunked it into the water to resume his voyage. Ragetti could tell right away that he'd have to row directly past the merchant ship to stay on course, but this didn't concern him in the slightest.

He was too optimistic to care.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I had a little inspiration from the song "Stand" by Rascal Flatts while I was writing this chapter. The lyrics are perfect for it.

(Soon to be updated)


	28. The First Day

(Disclaimer: don't own it.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

For as long as man had been sailing the seas, the stars had served as his guiding light. Those twinkling celestial bodies made a perfect map in the night sky, and an expert navigator could easily find his destination under the North Star without ever using a handheld chart.

Unfortunately, this method proved rather useless during the day.

"Straight southeast," Ragetti murmured as he paddled along. "Just keep goin' straight. Straight southeast…"

He'd put the _Concorde Trader_ behind him hours ago, long before sunup. That giant wooden landmark was nowhere in sight this morning, and so the only thing the pirate could do was try to keep moving in a straight line until the sun set again and confirmed which direction he was headed.

"Stay straight. Southeast…wait." Ragetti ceased his rowing and sat up, alert. There was a breeze in the air—one that could easily nudge him off course if he wasn't careful. Had he already started drifting? How far off was he if he had? A sudden panic gripped him as he scanned his surroundings. Everything looked exactly the same!

"No. No this ain't right. Th'wind's 'froughin' me off! I…"

He fell silent then and thought for a moment. The wind had been blasting him on his left side all morning, and it didn't seem to be pushing him sideways while he just sat here now, so he must've still been going the right way.

Ragetti shook his head. "I'm fine." Then he took up his oar again. "Just keep goin' straight. _Calm down_ and keep goin' straight."

He had to think about something else. Something that wasn't going to turn him into a nervous wreck. The pirate frowned as he slowed his pace a second time. He was digging deep into his memory for some kind of amusing thought, a long-forgotten moment that he'd spent with Pintel in the days when they'd both barely had a problem in the world. The defeat of the East India Trading Company? No, further back. Their escape from the Port Royal prison? No. There were still too many painful memories attached to that single happy one. Even their time spent on the _Black Pearl_ before they found that cursed Isla de Muerta didn't have quite the uplifting impact that Ragetti wanted so badly right now.

The one-eyed man absently picked up his rowing again as he strained to remember. Where had he and Pinters been before all of that?

Just like that, the answer hit him.

"The _Spanish Doubloon_! The _Foundation_!" Ragetti couldn't help grinning that the comical recollection. "F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N. Ten letters!"

It was like the incident had just happened hours ago. He remembered everything: himself standing on the docks as a young boy as he tried to read the letters on the stern of the stolen ship, Pintel trying to deflect all his silly questions before angrily blurting out the answers, and of course, Captain Brackens waltzing up to them and showing off the letter "P" that was branded on his leathery forehead. Ragetti doubted he'd ever experience another moment that was so terrifying and so hilarious at the same time.

He let out a small laugh and reached into his pocket to pull out his wood carving. Old Edmund the Red would be proud to know that somebody'd kept his daft little hobby alive all these years.

"Brackens you rantin' ol' coot," the lanky fellow mumbled fondly as he eyed that splintery block. "God bless yeh!"

Ragetti carefully placed the carving between his feet on the floor of the boat and set his sights on the horizon. He was heading southeast alright, but in his gleeful daydream-like state, his destination was the _Doubloon_ instead of Anchor's Edge.

…………………

It'd always baffled Pintel that someone as bony as his nephew could eat so much and still pass himself off as a mop handle the next day. Even Ragetti couldn't figure out if it was a fast metabolism or just the result of constantly being on the move that caused this bizarre phenomenon. He knew two things for sure though: he got hungry often, and when he did, he got _extremely_ hungry.

That was why the lanky drifter found himself leaning over the side of his longboat and staring at the water late that afternoon.

He probably would've looked like some wild animal sizing up prey to an onlooker—his stomach was certainly sounding like an impatient dog at the moment. Where were all the fish? This bloody ocean was supposed to be crawling with them! He'd settle for a lousy minnow right now if he could just spot one!

Another sharp grumble from his belly suddenly cut off Ragetti's inner tantrum. The buccaneer patted his empty gut to shut it up, then sighed and sat back on the bench. He should've been the master of longboat survival after all the times he'd jumped ship with Pinters! At any rate, he should've been more used to these sort of rough spots.

_Think about something else. Stay positive._

Ragetti scowled at this increasingly difficult task and rolled his eye up to the sky. A golden-orange tint was already emerging from that blue and white canvas as afternoon shifted to evening. It wouldn't be long before that sunset he'd been anxiously waiting for. This promising discovery was all the pirate needed to put a cheerful spin on his hunger.

His face was glowing with bright wit as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh 'ow I longs for a nice tasty fish! A simple but fillin' ol' seafood dish! A flounder or basslet would be quite delish'! In all the wide world, that'd be me wish!"

Ragetti doubled over giggling to himself when he finished the poem. Hardly _The Iliad_, but charming nonetheless.

He idly tapped his feet on the floor of the boat and threw another verse together. "Driftin' along in me most recent plunder! She's all what keeps me from sinkin' under! Alone out at sea, I can't 'elps but wonder, if this were also me most recent blunder!"

He also laughed at these lines in spite of their meaning. "That's good!" Then he quickly recited both pieces a second time in hopes of branding them into his memory.

As he did so, Ragetti gave the sky another casual glance, and abruptly fell silent. Far off on his right side, just beginning to peek down from above the darkening clouds, was the sun. It was directly to the right.

He spun himself around to face the glowing ball straight on. It should've been _behind_ him and to his right if he was going southeast! He was moving past it at an exact perpendicular angle instead—he was going straight SOUTH!

Now the words of his last rhyme weren't so humorous anymore.

"Oh no…" He could only whisper the words as he shook his head in horror. "No…NO!"

The pirate nearly hurled his oar overboard when he snatched it up, and salty foam spewed everywhere as he proceeded to beat his wooden instrument into the water. He had to get back on course! He could've cursed himself a hundred times over for letting his mind wander so easily! How long had he been going the wrong way?!

"SOUTHEAST!" Ragetti howled to himself. "STRAIGHT SOUTHEAST! You really is an idiot, yeh skinny chantey-singin' twit! STRAIGHT SOUTHEAST!"

He didn't care if he was scaring any nearby fish away with his frantic rowing; his foolish poetry recital had probably done that minutes ago. Finding food had suddenly become a second priority next to finding his way, and Ragetti realized what a harsh lesson his stomach was going to learn from his brain's error.

_That's assumin' yeh even lives long enough t'be 'ungry again, _he thought bitterly.

The lone traveler gritted his teeth and ignored the sting of his already tiring arms. He had a long and busy night ahead of him.

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(A short chapter, I know, especially since it took me so darn long to write it. We're venturing into another part of the story that I never quite had mapped out, so I only have the most basic idea of what's going to happen in the next two chapters. Stick with me though folks! We're getting extremely close to the end!)

Soon to be updated


	29. The Second Day

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

"Foundation. Ten letters. F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N. Ten."

Ragetti couldn't keep himself from murmuring the words aloud as he played them over and over in his head. His mind always wandered when he carved his wood blocks, and the more he thought about that angry but educational retort, the odder it started to sound.

Last night's ordeal was nothing but a jumbled mess in the drifter's memory. All he knew was that he'd kept his eye fixed on those stars the entire time and had rowed like there'd been a devil on his tail until sunup. No sleep, no breathers. Nothing but paddling and praying.

It wasn't likely that he'd covered all of his lost ground yet, but Ragetti'd been too famished that morning to go any further. He'd finally sat his oar down and flopped backwards over the bench to rest on the longboat's floor, ready to take in a well-enough earned rest. It was somewhere between morning and afternoon right now, and the scrawny sailor still found himself curled up at the rear of his tiny vessel. Night was for traveling. Day was for sleeping and eating. That would be his strategy the rest of the voyage.

But even in his weary condition, Ragetti'd found some time for recreation in this strict schedule.

The wood carving was coming along nicely. He'd probably have the entire shape finished by night if he kept at his current pace. Smoothing out that splintery surface would be another story, but the pirate wasn't terribly concerned about that stage of the process yet. The only thing he had to work with was his knife, so he'd just have to settle for carving the figure while he was out here. Besides, there'd be plenty of tools for him to get his hands on once he found the _Black Pearl_ again.

The mere mention of that ship's name brought another tune back to him. "'Oists the flags, 'oists the sails. Keeps 'is feet on the rails. In a pick, never fails. Finds a way, an' then prevails."

Ragetti's knife hand was moving faster as he mumbled. That song always made him feel like he was nearing the end of some long mission. It was enough to bring a trace of a smile back to his tired face.

"Never fights. Clever sot. Rather 'atch a shift plot, that 'e'll make up on the spot. Jack Sparrow. Where'd yeh go? Jack—"

WUMPH!

The startled buccaneer almost sprang up to the clouds as the longboat jerked and began bobbing up and down in the water. Something had bumped against its underside. His break rudely ended, Ragetti impulsively dropped his knife and carving onto his chest and splayed his spidery limps out to brace himself. The tiny boat continued rocking for a few more seconds, then another jolt shook it back up. This time however, the loud WUMPH! was followed by the dull scratch of something flat scraping across wood.

That bulging blue eye darted back and forth in utter terror. Something was swimming under the boat!

Ragetti was barely breathing as he flattened himself further against the floor planks. What could it be? It was big, no denying that, and it sounded like it had some sort of tail swinging along behind it. And it had to be pretty darn gutsy to come swimming right up to something as big and round as a longboat…

That was when he stopped breathing altogether.

"Sh…sh…shark?..."

WUMPH!

"Shark!"

He quickly stuffed his carving into his pocket and crawled onto the bench with his knife in hand. That had to be what it was! Floating alone in open water like this was practically an invitation to get eaten by one of those nasty fish! He might as well have been trailing a chain of sausages behind him!

Ragetti kept low and straddled the bench. The last place he wanted to be was on the bottom of the boat with only one layer of wood separating him from that sea monster. There was no sign of anything in the water around his vessel, which had the jittery man even more convinced that the danger was lurking directly below. For one horrible instant, he recalled the shark that'd attacked him after he'd fallen overboard near Pelegosto Island, and a part of him actually wondered if this was the same animal returning for another try.

A fourth bump set the boat teetering roughly again. Its passenger stifled a frightened squeal and clung to his bench for dear life. The suspense was twisting a horrendous knot in his stomach, one that made Ragetti want to spew out whatever crumbs of food were left inside him. He hadn't felt this terrible since Pintel'd told him about nearly shooting Rebecca back on Tortuga. The thought of that traumatic revelation immediately made the young man drop his head onto the bench, and despite his efforts to keep it at bay, the scene came rushing forward in his mind to start the torment all over again.

_Don't know wot'll 'appen to the kid._ Those had been Pintel's words. _I don't 'fink she wants it. Prob'ly wouldn't 'urt it. Nah. She won't 'urt the baby. Not much. Maybe just ignore it, pretend it ain't there._

"Prob'ly wouldn't 'urt it," Ragetti repeated fearfully. His eyes were squeezed shut as his watery pursuer went on prodding the boat. "She won't 'urt the baby. Not much. She won't 'urt the baby. Pretend it ain't there…"

And just like that, the nightmare ended. It was like the creature beneath him had heard those nervous words and decided to follow them. As quickly as they'd started, the sharp nudges ceased, and the helpless longboat was left alone to bob gently in the water. Inside the vessel though, the terror was far from over.

"She won't 'urt the baby…she won't 'urt the baby…she won't 'urt the baby…"

Ragetti remained latched onto his bench as he continued repeating the phrase. His eyes were still clenched shut, and every bit of him was trembling from strain and fright. He hardly even noticed that his mystery assailant had gone away.

That bitter moment with Pintel wasn't the only one flashing before his eyes. That was just the candle that lit an entire room full of memories of his mother. All the times she'd left him standing outside by himself, all the times she'd screamed and cursed at him, all the times he'd watched her fall to the ground crying for some reason that he couldn't understand—every last one of those suppressed images was parading through his ringing head now.

The only thing Ragetti could think to do was roll off of the bench, and the jarring crash onto the boat's floor was like a pistol firing in his brain. His eyes snapped open at last, and for several seconds, he could only stare straight up at the blinding white sky. Then his fitful shaking resumed.

"Look what you made me say," he whimpered in an eerie echo of his mother's voice. "Look what you all made me do…"

…………………

It'd taken a while for Ragetti to convince himself that the shark—if that was in fact what the creature had been—was gone. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he'd picked up his oar again and decided to get a jump-start on that night's rowing. He still hadn't eaten anything yet; he wasn't sure he could handle another fish swimming by his boat anyway.

Fortunately, this second night's sunset showed him that he was still going the right way. That brought a small but much-welcomed sense of relief to the drifter, and he soon found himself cruising along and curiously observing the stars' reflections in the black night waters. If it wasn't for his growling stomach and parched throat, he might have really enjoyed the sight.

Sighing to himself, Ragetti pulled in his paddle and sat back. He might as well take a short rest while it was still early into night. That sparkling sky map wasn't going anywhere.

To tell the truth, the lanky pirate had never considered himself an expert at this type of navigation. He just knew that all those constellations up there were facing the same way tonight as they were last night, and that seemed to be working.

It'd taken him years to learn all the names of those figures when he was a lad: Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Draco, Hercules, Taurus, Orion, and his personal favorite, Canis Major.

Ragetti paused and blinked up at this last one. Canis Major, the "Greater Dog." It'd never looked like anything but an unfinished capital "Q" to him, but he'd sill always tried to piece together the mythical pooch from that handful of dots. No doubt, he'd only liked the constellation for its name, which was emphasized all the more by its brightest member Sirius the "Dog Star." For some reason, he found it unnerving to look at now. Canis Major: his _former _personal favorite.

He frowned and lowered his head to squint forward. At least that big hound in the sky gave him some light to work with. Under that silvery glow, he could see a good three or four ship lengths ahead. Ragetti gave the stars another glance for safe measure, then looked forward once more. Then he froze.

For the first time since he'd jumped ship and started this lonely odyssey, there was something visible on the horizon.

Ragetti snapped out of his trance when he realized that his boat was turning to the left; he was still holding the oar in the water on the starboard side. After promptly switching it over to his port side and straightening himself out, he crawled to the very front of the vessel for a better look at his discovery.

It was a ship. A dimly lit transport with two masts that was facing northeast. It didn't seem to be moving, and the only cause Ragetti could see for this was that it had no sails up.

No, wait. Its sails weren't missing. They were _black_!

There was no way to describe what went through the buccaneer's head right then. One second he was gawking stupidly with his mouth hanging open, then the next he was hopping about like a giddily deranged monkey and screaming his lungs out.

"MURTOGG! MULLROY!" The entire longboat was wobbling side-to-side as he waved his aching arms in the air. "MARTY! COTTON! _CHARLOTTE!!_"

The ship showed no sign of movement. Of course not! It'd take forever for something that big to come over here and pick up a puny boat like his! _He'd_ have to be the one to cross the gap if he wanted to climb aboard the _Black Pearl_! Ragetti was still bouncing with excitement as he went back to rowing.

He'd found it! Honest to God, he'd found it! Forget Anchor's Edge! The _Black Pearl_ herself was waiting for him now!

"I'm comin' mates! It's me, Rags! I'm comin'! Just 'old tight! Ha ha ha!"

A minute passed and the ship didn't seem to look any closer. The one-eyed drifter responded to this by only rowing faster. It wasn't until five minutes later, when the _Pearl_ was still the exact same distance away, that his happy delirium started to fade.

He slowed to a stop and craned his neck to try and see the vessel more clearly. "…Charlotte?!" Then as a last cheery afterthought, he added, "Cap'n Berkley?"

The _Black Pearl_ remained motionless and unresponsive. There wasn't even a flicker of light to signal that his ruckus had been heard. Then all at once, it vanished from sight.

Ragetti's jaw dropped again in shock. The _Pearl_ was gone! Had it doused its lamps? Had a thick cloud suddenly passed over it? And then there was another, far more troubling question that part of him couldn't help but wonder: had it ever been there at all?

The very idea stung and made him lower his head nervously. The thin man swallowed back a whine of dread and squeezed his twitching hands together. Had he really just imagined seeing that ship? Sure, he'd had a couple trying episodes out here and he hadn't eaten or slept for two days, but he couldn't really be slipping that far already.

Could he?

"F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N. Ten letters…"

He had to calm down. Had to focus on something else. Carving maybe? His knife and wooden figure were out in an instant. Ragetti was about to put the two together then when he hesitated. Even with the moon and stars to light things up, it was hard to see the details of his creation.

The pirate's shaky hands hovered uncertainly. He'd worked too long on this figurine to chance ruining it, but what was he going to do instead?

His single eye instinctively wandered over to the inner side of the longboat, and he realized that he was literally surrounded by whittling material. The thought seemed daft at first, but what harm would it really do? A few scrapings off the top edges weren't going to start a leak. They certainly weren't going to slow the vessel down either. Why not try it?

Another harsh rumble from his gut was the last push Ragetti needed. He tucked his wood carving safely away and reached out to grip the edge of the boat. Then he brought up his knife and feverishly set to work.

"Driftin' along in me most recent plunder.

She's all what keeps me from sinkin' under.

Alone out at sea, I can't 'elps but wonder,

If this were also me most recent blunder…"

--

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Soon to be updated!)


	30. The Third Day

(Disclaimer: not mine.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

It wasn't until the following morning that Ragetti realized how dire his situation was growing. He was sore, nauseous, and downright exhausted, but in spite of all those wearing factors, he couldn't even begin to fall asleep. That blazing sun was constantly beating down on his head and burning his eye with an ugly searing shade of red every time he closed it. He'd tried burrowing his face inside his jacket and hiding under the bench, but these tactics had only added to his discomfort. The lanky blonde had always believed that people could sleep anywhere if they were tired enough, but at this rate, he wasn't sure if he'd ever reach that level of fatigue.

Ragetti made a frustrated groan and finally climbed onto all fours. He then reached down to his belt and untied his only other tool for defense: his red bandanna. It took an awful lot of courage, but once he had that faded piece of cloth out and ready, the pirate leaned over the edge of the boat and dipped it into water. Then he swiftly recoiled and finished by tying the dripping wet garment around his head. The refreshing feeling of cold seawater running down his burning face was enough to make him sway dreamily.

For the first time since yesterday afternoon, Ragetti was sitting directly on the floor of the longboat. He hadn't exactly been as kind to his vessel last night as he'd planned to be; there were three gaping canyons whittled into its top edges now that could've been mistaken for shark bites. He'd also chipped away so much of the bench during his carving binge that the wooden seat no longer supported his weight. It was like an addiction—nothing short of a traumatic surprise could stop Ragetti when he had that hungry knife out. In this case, his interruption had been the sun, the same thing that was still tormenting him. It'd risen in a heart-stopping halo of light that morning to show that he'd wasted an entire night's worth of rowing time. By then, the hopeless drifter had been too spent to do anything about it.

"Yo ho…yo ho…a pirate's life fer me…" The mumbled lyrics slipped out weakly as Ragetti stared down at those lapping ocean waves again.

Two days. He'd been out here for two days without a drop of nourishment to keep him going. Now his throat was all but sealed shut and his stomachaches had turned into one vicious pain that was stabbing him in the gut. The sailor knew he was running out of time, and with no other source to turn to, he plunged his shaky hands into the water, brought them to his lips, and guzzled down the salty drink.

He began coughing and gagging almost instantly. Ragetti turned away on impulse and doubled over to rest his head on the ruins of his bench. That nasty beverage stung all the way down, and its heavy dose of salt only made him sicker with thirst. The distressed fellow was still cringing when he sat up, but he barely hesitated before reaching out and shoveling in another mouthful. Water was water after all.

It was the same chain of events all over again. Feel sick, fall back, get thirstier, and drink more. Ragetti was trapped in a brutal cycle of desperation, and his lapsing mind had decided for itself that it was going to keep slurping up that swill until he wasn't parched anymore.

The third drink was so horrid that he drooled most of it out. His tongue was already swelling and growing numb. Two seconds later, he'd shaken off enough of his disgust to take a fourth gulp.

That was what did it. The moment Ragetti swallowed, a wave of nausea swept up to his head from his belly and sent him reeling. He frantically clutched his churning gut with one hand and clapped the other over his mouth, thinking for sure that he was going to be sick. In the end though, the young man only dropped to the floor of the boat with a spasm and tucked himself into a squirming fetal position.

"She won't…'urt the…baby," he croaked in a voice that was barely his own. "Just…ignore it. 'Fink about…sumfin'…else!"

Instead, he thought about _everything_ else.

It was like a Chinese rocket had launched in his brain. _The_ Concorde_!_ _Tortuga! Windrick! Barbossa! The maelstrom! Shipwreck Cove! Davy Jones' Locker! Singapore!_

Ragetti cried out and grasped his head in both hands. His entire life was flashing by in reverse as he lay there writhing, and it was only making his pain worse.

_The Kraken! The_ Dutchman_! The Chest! Pelegosto Island! Port Royal! The curse! The_ Pearl_! Jack Sparrow! The Navy!_

"Stop it…stop it…" he whispered sharply as he squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like some ugly parasite was trying to gnaw its way out of his skull!

_The_ Doubloon_! Brackens! Pellinore! The ruby! The_ Folly_! Wood! Yager! Cormac! Rub!_

"Stop it!"

_Pilón! The_ Urchin_! Tortuga!_

"_STOP!!_"

And just like that, the torturous memories ceased.

Ragetti didn't move from his position for several minutes. The pain in his head was dulled now, but not quite gone. It would probably go away completely if he stayed this way long enough. In the meantime, he just had to keep his mind at bay.

"No more thoughts. No more thoughts, no more thoughts, no more thoughts." Repetition had become his dearest ally over the past two days.

Another moment passed and the agonized feeling continued to fade. Sensing this, Ragetti sighed with relief and began to slacken his arms. His eyes remained closed, more so to enjoy the passing ache than to block out any disruptions. It would all be over in a second.

"Not more thoughts, no more pain. No more thoughts, no more pain. No more pain."

He fell silent then and lay still, focusing on his condition. Still fading…

"Grrrrrr!"

The buccaneer's good left eye suddenly opened, breaking his concentration. What was that?

"Grrrrrrrrr!"

Ragetti rolled over and sluggishly lifted himself onto all fours. The most he could do was blink stupidly at the sight before him.

There at the other end of the longboat, angrily growling and bristling, stood a dog. A small-statured mutt with shaky gray fur and sharp brown eyes. It was just standing there like a furry sculpture, and clenched in its sharp white teeth was an entire ring full of rusted old keys.

A light of happy recognition glimmered in Ragetti's blue eye. "Poochie?…" he rasped. "What're you doin' out 'ere, boy? Yeh miss yer ol' travelin' mates?"

The dog continued growling, unresponsive to his greeting. The delirious human just shook his head and let out a shaky, barely existent laugh.

"Oh Poochie, you doesn't know 'ow glad I am t'see yeh. I could use a familiar face right now…"

The fuming hound jerked its head forward and snarled louder. It was threatening him. Ragetti's joy abruptly turned to surprise at this unmistakable message.

"…W-what is it, boy? What's th'matter?" His voice sounded deeply hurt. "Don't yeh recognize me? It's me, Rags. That li'l one-eyed chap yeh left Port Royal wif. Pintel's friend!"

But once again, the animal ignored him and took a guarded step closer. It looked like it was going to attack him at any moment.

"Why're yeh doin' that, Poochie? I knows I wasn't that nice to yeh at first, but we got past that, 'member? Back on Shipwreck Island. We gettin' close t'there now?"

The canine's whole body twitched as it barked through its clenched teeth. This unfriendly reply prompted a symphony of jingles and clinks from its collection of keys, and the distraught man's eye suddenly flew to them with awe. Every fiber of his being seemed to be drawn in by those dangling metal instruments right then, and as he watched them, a profound change came over him.

"Gimme th'keys, boy," Ragetti said stiffly. He extended a hand and met the creature's harsh gaze. "Give 'em to yer old friend Rags."

"GRRRRR!"

"Poochie, gimme th'keys." Now the drifter was starting to get angry as well. He gestured sharply for the dog to place its keys into his outstretched palm. "Yeh've already done it twice, just bloody 'and 'em over one more time!"

Still no results. Ragetti's arms began rattling with fury.

"Damn it all, why won't yeh listen t'me? I'm the 'uman and yeh're the stupid mongrel! _I'm_ the 'uman! And when I says teh 'and 'em over, yeh does it! You mangy ol' fleabag! You was always mockin' me wif them stinkin' keys, makin' _me_ feel like the animal in a cage! Well I ain't an animal! I never was! I just grew up actin' like one 'cause that's _all I ever knew!_"

He'd practically shrieked his last words. He didn't care. There was no one around to hear him but that filthy mutt. Ragetti was literally stranded out here with his greatest insecurity, and this haunting understanding quickly triggered that vicious, instinctive part of his psyche that he'd locked away long ago. Scowling, the pirate lowered his hand and shared a final cold glower with his foe. Then he snapped.

"STUPID BLIGHTER!"

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Ragetti hurled himself over the bench and into the dog, seizing the struggling creature by the snout and pinning it to the floor of the boat with his own weight. Then he yanked out his carving knife in his rage and blindly stabbed at the body beneath him until the last of his strength gave way. Disoriented, he stumbled backwards over his forgotten oar and into the bench, smashing the structure's flimsy remains. That was where he lay for almost a minute, unable to do anything but pant and stare blankly up at the sky.

Ragetti was barely even aware of what had just happened. The only thought that occurred to him at all was that his hands were wet for some reason. He slowly brought his trembling fingers up to hover over his face, and when he saw crimson blood dripping from them, everything began to fall into place.

And that was when the old Rags resurfaced and realized what a terrible thing he'd done.

"POOCHIE! POOCHIE! NO! I'M SORRY, POOCHIE!"

He sat up with a jolt and immediately toppled forward onto his face. Even then, he managed to drag himself the rest of the way to where he'd left that ruined little body. "I'M SORRY!"

As troubling as his confrontation with the prison dog had been, it didn't hold so much as a candle to the reality of the situation. Ragetti had no idea in his feverish state that there'd never been any dog on his boat at all. The only thing he'd stabbed was the floor of the vessel, and the foamy liquid oozing from those "wounds" wasn't blood, but seawater. The fallen sailor had just crippled his own transport, and the only thing keeping it from flooding right then was his own body lying over the gashes.

Unaware of his peril, Ragetti stayed in his heap of misery. Then one more surprise visitor made its presence known.

"Our minds are de tings we value most, and so dey are de easiest tings ta lose."

The scrawny buccaneer went rigid at the sound of that grim voice. It was undeniably female, and although he was too weary and shaken to lift his head for a look, he recognized that deep, whimsical purr in a heartbeat.

"My sweet…" the voice crooned. "Will ya sey not'ing? Will yah not speak ta me, as ya once did? Or can ya not?"

Ragetti was still too stunned to move or respond. He felt something brush gently over his head then, as if delicate reassuring fingers were stroking him. As if sensing his distress, the voice came closer and continued with a motherly tenderness.

"Poor man. A drifting soul, lost at sea wit no one ta ferry ya home. Always adrift ya was. Always searching, always troubled, always afraid of de walls closing in. All your life…vexed by a woman."

His eyes grew huge at this. _Vexed by a woman_. It didn't take long for Ragetti to figure out precisely who that woman was. Once the full impact of this comprehension sank in, he tensed up further under that caressing hand and listened fully to the voice's next words.

"…Her did not want to leave ya. Her was a troubled mind. She did not want the same to become of you, and so she leave, and spend her last days alone."

This was spoken with the utmost sincerity, at least that was how it'd sounded. Tears welled up in Ragetti's eye at what the figure was telling him—at what she was trying to do for him—but part of him couldn't and didn't want to believe what he'd just heard. His mother couldn't have deserted him for his own good. She was a selfish double-crosser who threw aside anyone she had no use for! That was what Pintel'd told him, so it had to be true! She couldn't have loved her son enough to have such a noble intention!

But then there was the voice's other revelation: his mother was…dead? He'd spent all those years wondering where she was and if he'd ever find her again…only to find out that she'd already been gone that entire time?

What if it really wasn't Rebecca's fault for pushing him away? What if she'd been trying to protect him from herself, like Pintel'd done after nearly killing him on the _Pearl_ four months ago? Had Rebecca ever accidentally harmed him? The hazy image of her sobbing and hugging him close drifted through Ragetti's mind.

What if she'd left him with Pintel to help her brother as much as her son? What if his uncle'd been wrong about her all along?

These questions tugged at him relentlessly, yet in all their perception-twisting confusion, they were overshadowed by one intruding fact: the looming female figure who'd placed these thoughts in his head knew everything about his past and more. She'd pried into his most personal memories and read them like a book, and now she was throwing her own outside twist into a story that he'd taken a lifetime to come to terms with. Armed with this resentment, Ragetti gathered what was left of his own voice and finally spoke.

"…Get out of me 'ead."

His order seemed to amuse the other more than deflect her. "Now, now. You could not really be dat quick ta cast me away, my…dear one." Her tone was oozing with flirtatiousness. "My brave, handsome, all-knowing savior."

"I'M NOT—" Ragetti barked, then gained control of himself as he continued glaring at the longboat's floor. "Not a savior…There's only one savior. Only one God. No goddesses. You're not real. You was never real. It were all in me 'ead. It were all in me 'ead! GET OUT OF ME 'EAD!"

This time, the other voice wasn't so friendly. "And what of de great storm what nearly swallow them precious _Pearl_ five year ago? Was dat not real?"

"Get outta' me 'ead!"

"What traitor of sense be ya, denyin' all what him does and sees?"

"Go away!"

"And what of de incantation? You speak words of care and affection to me wit love what was fair! Was _dat_ not real? Was it a lie what I should'a not repay? Should I have gone and fulfill my desire fer vengeance wit'out bein' so merciful?!"

Ragetti squeezed his eyes shut and winced. That rich feminine tone had transformed into an inhuman roar as she'd shouted her threat. Anticipating the worst, he cowered into a pathetic ball and covered his head with his hands.

"Pinters…" He'd whimpered his lost mentor's name in loneliness rather than fear.

Countless seconds passed, and the terrifying silence was broken.

"Again I say…poor man." Her voice was much softer and sadder than he'd been expecting. "You know not what be real, nor what can be real toged'er." Then with that, Ragetti was alone again.

He never had a chance to dwell on it. No sooner had that eerie speaker gone away than her listener felt a faint breeze on the back of his neck. Two seconds later, it started to blow harder. And harder. And even harder still.

Ragetti was completely pinned down by the wind in less than a minute. That alone would've been enough reason for concern, but a clap of thunder overhead made him jump.

Oh no…

The wind whistled loudly past his ears as it continued to pick up speed. There was no question about it: he was trapped.

"No more thoughts," he whispered anxiously to himself again. "No more thoughts, no more thoughts."

It was a useless strategy. That memory of him and his mother was tattooed into his brain by this point. There was nothing left for him to do but watch it play out and try to make sense of it.

He could remember her crying. Was that all she was doing? No! No, she was also saying something. What was she saying? Was she talking to him?

Ragetti clamped his palms over his ears and strained to remember. The bottoms of his jacket were nearly swatting him in the face from that blasting wind.

_What was she saying?_

It was coming back to him one fragment at a time. They were outside. It was morning. He was younger than ten. How much younger? Probably five. His mother was practically smothering him as she clung to him, and through her sobs, he could just make out four words: "I can't do this."

She was saying it over and over again. "I can't do this. I can't. I just can't! I can't do this anymore, Thomas! I can't do this! I—"

The pirate stopped in mid-thought. What was that one part she'd said?

_I can't do this anymore, Thomas!_

Ragetti's eyes flew open.

_I can't do this anymore, Thomas!_

"Thomas…"

All the windstorms in the world couldn't have held the beaming youth down in that instant.

"Thomas!" he shouted as he rose triumphantly to his hands and knees. "It's Thomas! Thomas Ragetti!_ That's me name!_"

He never saw the oar coming. The wind caught hold of that long paddle the minute Ragetti lifted himself from the boat's butchered floor and whipped it straight forward. The flat wooden end of the device connected bluntly with the back of the man's head and made him drop like a bundle of wet rope.

The last thing to surface in his throbbing head was the charming idea of seeing a black-sailed ship under the command of Captain Charlotte Berkley.

Then there really were no more thoughts.

--

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(Soon to be updated! Only two chapters left to go!)


	31. Paradise of the Mind

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

The first sensation to welcome Ragetti back to consciousness was the foul stench of sulfur burning in his nostrils. This came a hair of a second before the feeling of scratchy burlap underneath him, along with a surreal weightlessness that made his dizziness kick back in.

"Nnnnn…" He started swinging lightly from side to side as he groaned. Swinging only made him dizzier.

The groggy buccaneer cringed at the return of his nausea and lolled his head to the right. When this failed to ease the ache, he slid his eyes open and listlessly waited for his vision to clear up. Within moments, he found himself gazing at a tiny dark figure seated at the bottom of a wooden staircase.

The figure was a cat, a black and brown tortie that contrasted beautifully with the sunlight filtering down from the top of the steps. It returned Ragetti's gaze with typical feline boredom and didn't move so much as a whisker when it saw he was awake. Despite this bland greeting, the pirate couldn't bring himself to look away. Was he seeing a real kitty or just another mirage?

His furry subject seemed to pick up on this delusional thought. Its pale yellow eyes blinked once, then without further delay, the creature stood and calmly trotted away.

Ragetti reacted like he'd just been shocked. "Wait!"

He impulsively tried to get up in pursuit, but he barely even lifted his head and shoulders before another overwhelming pain made its presence known. The gangly fellow froze with dread as his stomach began doing somersaults…

"Finally decide t'come around, mate?" a new voice asked him snidely. "About time."

Ragetti twisted to the right and aimed his mouth downwards.

"_BLOARGH!_"

A stomachful of saltwater and week-old food spewed forth and splattered onto the floor.

The mystery voice suddenly wasn't so snide anymore. "…Oh."

Unfortunately for the one-eyed youngster, his sharp motion only made the swinging worse. He bobbed his head woozily and shuddered, then lost all control and tipped forward. A loud shuffle announced his observer's approach just before two hands seized his shoulders and hoisted him back to safety.

"You don't wanna be lying in that," the voice, a man's, pointed out squeamishly. "Even though it waslying in _you _a minute ago."

Ragetti coughed weakly and lifted his head to glance at the other's face. Once he saw who it was, his wooden eye nearly went flying out of its socket.

"Cap'n _Jack?!_"

The dreadlocked man stood up straight and waved him off impatiently. "Yes, yes, yes, I'm the captain." He peeked over his shoulder as he moseyed backwards to the keg barrel by Ragetti's feet where he'd been sitting. As he did so, he limply tossed aside the rancid cannon wand that he'd used to wake up his guest. "And word has reached me that you've been relentlessly _shrieking_ for the captain like a bleeding banshee in your unresponsive state of incapacitation."

The younger sailor was gawking at him like a ninny all the while. Now he _had_ to be seeing things!

Jack plopped himself back down onto the barrel and continued, ignoring Ragetti's stunned face. "Clearly you have some deeply engraved desire to speak with someone in my position, and so I am here—" he spread his arms out in a sarcastic presenting gesture "—taken from my rightful and much preferred place at the wheel, to settle whatever grievance you've brought onto my ship with you."

Ragetti hung his head a little with guilt. Old Jack hadn't sounded half this irritated when they'd found him in Davy Jones' Locker. The thin blonde frowned at that recollection and quietly scanned the room. He was lying in a hammock below deck on a ship, that much was apparent right away. It only took a few seconds to realize exactly which ship it was, but after everything he'd been through in that hellish longboat, Ragetti couldn't quite believe his sight.

"This is the _Black_ _Pearl_?" he asked breathlessly. He propped himself up on one elbow for a better look.

"Aye, it is," Sparrow answered flatly. "And you are on board courtesy of your bonny lass Miss Berkley, who heard you shrieking for _her_…and had some very interesting leverage to gain my approval with."

The captain's right hand casually drifted down to finger his beloved compass as it hung from his belt. Ragetti saw this but was too weary and smart to make a comment.

He couldn't believe it. He was on the _Pearl_. He'd actually found it this time, and with Captain Jack Sparrow on board no less. It couldn't be real. Could it?

"'Ow long've I been 'ere?"

"Two days. How long were you drifting at sea before we found you?"

"…Lot longer'n that, I guess."

Jack bent down to retrieve something from the floor. "I thought so. Here." He sat back up and placed a half-filled drinking mug in the other's hand.

His former crewman stared blankly down at the liquid inside. "What is it?"

"Something different, mate. Something you'll find very little of aboard the _Pearl_."

Ragetti sloshed the drink around as he peered deeper inside the cup. Just then, he recognized the beverage. "Water?"

Jack also frowned, somewhat embarrassed and skeptical of the idea himself. "It's got its benefits, I've heard. One said benefit being that it brings a man who hasn't drunk anything for more'n two days back to his rightful senses."

"…I needs rum," the weaker man said in a small voice.

For once, Sparrow didn't fire off a snappy comeback. He studied Ragetti's downward-turned face for a moment, and through that curtain of shadows and grime, he could see just how sad and degenerated the lad really was. It was one of those rare occasions that plucked the infamous scoundrel's remaining scrap of humanity, and in that instant, he genuinely felt sorry for the bony mutineer.

The _Pearl_'s commander lowered his black-rimmed eyes and shifted in his seat. "I think you should drink the water, son," he said gently.

This earned a stare of disbelief from Ragetti. _Jack Sparrow_ discouraging someone from drinking rum? He looked glumly back down at the mug. Maybe the captain just didn't want to waste any of his precious brew on some straggler. Deciding that this was the case, the drifter reluctantly complied and took a few sips, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar and unpleasant taste.

Jack sat up straight and watched him warily. The shrewd seafarer knew he was about to witness a world of heartbreak.

"Now what brings you here?" he asked once he was ready.

Ragetti lowered the mug, stung by the question. There was nothing to do but start from the beginning. "…Pinters died."

The elder nodded. "The gents had a feeling that were the case when they saw you wifout him. Nigh inseparable you two were." He paused and shrugged lamely. "Anything Ol' Cap'n Jack can do to lighten that load?"

Another heavy silence passed before Ragetti gave his answer. "…Tell me you didn't find it."

"What? The Fountain of Youth?"

"Tell me it ain't real, it got destroyed, anyfing." That frail voice was already choking with sorrow. "Please don't say it was there all along, and I could've used it teh 'elp 'im."

Sparrow flicked his eyes away in thought. He had two options: either tell a happy lie or give the bittersweet truth. It was a touchy subject for him to discuss either way, but given the circumstances of the situation, he understood what had to be done.

"Well…there's no use in lying about it." He pulled his barrel a tad nearer and met the other's gaze to prove that he meant it. "I did find it. On the mainland, a week's walk up from the southern coast of Florida. It was real."

Ragetti looked completely destroyed as he dropped his head. Jack, however, wasn't finished with his story.

"_But_…" he went on, "there was some _fine print_ involved in it, one weensy little detail the charts failed to mention." He specifically waited for his puzzled listener to glance up again before he said his next words. "Eternal youth and immortality, obtainable in its waters—so long as you never leave them. Oh it works, true enough. It makes you days younger with not but a sip, and restores your health like it never needed restoring in the first place. It does everything the stories say! …It just doesn't last, mate. The minute you leave, all your cheated youth and long life starts to leave you. And the further behind you leave that fountain, the quicker it takes it all back. Look at me! I've taken more than my share of fanciful medicine and here I am, same as I would've looked without it all these years."

Dumbfounded, Ragetti blinked at his former leader and sat up further on his own. "So…so it's like the City of Shangri-La?"

The long-haired storyteller stiffened indignantly. "I'm _blissfully_ unfamiliar with that story, and would much appreciate it if you kept it that way." Evidently, he was still trying to come to terms with his disappointing discovery.

It was then that his wiry patient realized something else. "Wait. So…yeh left it b'hind? The fountain?"

"Even immortality can't keep Captain Jack Sparrow away from the sea."

Ragetti suddenly had the strength to sit up fully. "We been lookin' for you all along, ever since Barbossa left yeh on Tortuga all them years ago. The crew didn't 'fink it were right, and then Barbossa didn't have the charts to th'fountain to show for it. We wanted yeh back." He wasn't sounding angry as he spoke. He was simply stating the facts.

"Aye, I know that story," Jack said with a nod. "Even heard a pretty chapter of it from dear Hector himself once upon a time." He stood up and began pacing casually. "But the one detail what I'm not entirely clear on is exactly _why_ you and said crew wanted me back. Was it truly me, your dearest ol' Cap'n Jack, or the very necessary charts that you were all willing to brave the high seas to recover?"

He paused and turned to face Ragetti again, smugly amused by the younger man's squirming. Then he grinned with a flash of his gold teeth and finished by rephrasing an old line. "Did no one want to find me just because they missed me?"

The other pirate let his gloomy eyes sink down to his drink again. "Gibbs did."

Sparrow's grin fizzled away with the rest of his swagger. He hadn't been expecting any answer from the whelp, let alone one that close to the mark. "…Then _nobody_ got what they wanted."

He quickly leapt off of that topic and resumed his story in a brighter tone. "But one thing I know for sure, I missed the _Pearl_ too much to be away from her anymore. Had me eye set on bigger things and lost sight of her. That was my worst crime." The captain reached out and patted a nearby cannon as he said this, then knowingly glanced back at his listener. "That's why _you_ came looking for her, wasn't it? You hit a low point and you missed my ship."

Ragetti nodded.

"And you picked the right place to remove that homesickness," Jack confirmed. Seeing that he had the scrawny bone bag's full attention, he turned his back and proceeded to saunter aimlessly along with his hands hovering in front of him. It was what he always did when he spoke philosophically. "My ship is full of memories, and memories are a true paradise of the mind. We look to them when we're troubled, lonely, when we have nothing else. The joys that a man sees will come and go, but for as long as he's alive, he'll have his memories."

It was the worst possible thing to say. Behind him, overwhelming grief registered on Ragetti's face once more and his expression turned inward. Then the ruin of a man bit his lip, touched his brow to the rim of his mug, and wept softly. He had reached his breaking point.

Jack stopped in his tracks at the sound of the crying and spun back around. "Now what?"

"Foundation…"

The captain cocked his head like a confused parrot. "Huh?"

"Foundation," the poor wretch sobbed again. "F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N. Ten letters." He was oblivious to Sparrow now, even as the mesmerized counselor crept back over to watch him up close. All the heart-rending pain of the moment had sent Ragetti retreating into his own head, and he had no control over the broken rant coming out of his mouth.

"Oh, 'ow I longs fer a tasty fish. Driftin' along in me most recent plunder. She won't 'urt the baby. Just ignore it. Stay positive. 'Oists the flag, 'oists the sails, keeps 'is feet on the rails. Yo ho, yo ho. Stop. No more thoughts, no more pain. Gimme th'keys! Get outta' me 'ead! Foundation! F-O-U-N-D-A-T-I-O-N!"

His tirade was getting louder, more frenzied. An empty but terrified light filled his single eye, and that deep-rooted fear rattled his arms and legs so hard that the entire hammock was shaking. Water splashed wildly out of the quivering mug. It was completely by chance that Jack glanced down and spotted this, but once he saw those valuable drops being flung away, his hand flew out and roughly seized the handle from Ragetti.

"_STUPID BLIGHTER!_" the patient screeched automatically.

Now it was Captain Sparrow's turn to gawk stupidly. Ragetti clenched his empty fists and jerked like he was snapping out of a trance. His terror immediately turned to horror when he saw that he'd bellowed that last insult at his former leader. Up until then, he wasn't even aware that he'd said anything out loud.

The pirate lord squinted hard at him, trying to figure the underling out. Intrigue had replaced all of his hard-gained sympathy. A spark of devilish curiosity lit up Jack's sharp face, and then he leaned in the tiniest bit closer for an experiment.

"The joys that a man sees will come and go," he repeated with bated breath, "but for as long as he—"

"It's a lie." Ragetti's trembling started up again. "It's a lie… It ain't true… It ain't true at all. Pinters couldn't remember. 'E couldn't remember anyfing. Look what 'e did…"

His knobby hands reached up and finally pulled off his bandanna, revealing the crooked brown scar on his forehead. "'E didn't even recognize me—'e almost killed me, and 'e hated 'imself fer it! And 'e never got better! 'E didn't 'ave no paradise in 'is mind!"

Gone was the strong guardian that the past four months had forced him to become, and gone was the hard man that'd been created in the dungeons of Port Royal; Thomas Ragetti was a child once more, lonely and broken, crying for the loss of his uncle.

Jack never hesitated. "Then maybe he's found another paradise now."

The skinny fellow went quiet as his grief changed to surprise. There wasn't a doubt in his mind as to what the captain was talking about. "…But…but all the fings 'e's done. All the things we bof' done. Killin' and stealin', the mutiny… 'Ow could 'e end up there?"

"From what _I've_ seen of him, he took pretty good care of you, son. Looked after you, kept his eye on you when no one else did. Almost a father to you, really." The quirky commander returned to his barrel seat. "I highly doubt whoever's captaining things where he's gone will overlook that."

Ragetti stared up at him, in awe of this.

Sparrow kicked at the floor with one of his knee-high boots and handed back the mug of water. "…Tell you what. I've been a few hands short of a full crew lately, and seeing how I was always mum on the condition of…mental stability…I see no reason why we can't fit a drifter into that number somewhere."

"I can stay?" the lad asked with hopeful surprise.

"Well I can't very well throw you overboard after _that_ display, can I?" was the blunt answer. With that, the captain swept his famous tri-cornered hat off the floor, then stood and coolly placed it back on his bead-covered head. "You'll be on watch duty in the crow's nest this time tomorrow and nowhere else."

"'Cause I'm still on the mend?" Ragetti guessed.

Jack wrinkled his nose. "No. That wooden thing still scares the bejeezes out of me and I want to keep it as far away from the deck as humanly possible." He quickly lifted his hands haltingly when the other man loudly rubbed his false eye. "Please. Not on my ship."

He started to move towards the staircase, but stopped to motion animatedly at the vomit puddle by the hammock. "And, uh…clean that up."

"Aye, Cap'n."

Having squared this away, the higher authority turned and ascended the stairs. The black and brown cat was already waiting for him at the top oddly enough, and its human comrade passed it with an off-handed "Good kitty."

Alone in the crew's quarters, Ragetti paused to take everything in. A deep sense of comfort stirred inside him, and for the first time in ages, he felt an ache in his chest that was welcomed. He smiled faintly to himself and turned to place his feet on the floor. He couldn't explain it, but somehow, he felt astonishingly strong and well again.

As he shifted his position in the hammock though, he suddenly became aware of something sharp poking into his left hip. He jumped a bit at the brief jab before realizing it was coming from something inside his coat pocket. It was either his knife or his carving. Ragetti awkwardly switched his mug to his other hand and retrieved the troublesome item. That was when he received another huge surprise.

The object in his hand wasn't his carving or his knife.

It was a crab claw.

The rogue schemer went from sunburned to ghostly white in two seconds flat. It was impossible!

He carefully turned the pale, hollow appendage in his hand. It was _improbable_ at any rate.

Try as he might, he couldn't deny what he was holding in his palm or the likely way that it ended up inside his pocket. Maybe he hadn't gone so mad in that longboat after all.

Ragetti's eye stayed glued to the claw as he brought his mug up to his lips. That little victory definitely deserved a drink.

--

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(Soon to be updated!

My biggest fear in the last chapter was that I was using Calypso as a deus ex machina, so I went out of my way not to "show" her or say her name. That way it could seem like Ragetti was just imagining her at first. I guess having Calypso suddenly pop up wasn't too out of the blue though, since she played a pretty big role in the movies and was mentioned a couple of times earlier in this story. I guess I just wanted to warn you guys not to make too big a habit of doing that kind of thing in your stories.)


	32. Finding Peace

(Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.)

**Paradise of the Mind**

Following his new captain's orders, Ragetti found himself thirty-three meters above the rest of the crew's heads the next morning. It was the perfect weather for a day in the crow's nest: sunny, warm, and just windy enough to enjoy a soft breeze without being plastered to the mast. The one-eyed pirate sat with his long legs dangling over the edge of the platform.

He felt completely recovered from his three-day ordeal at sea. Almost _too_ recovered—he was starting to suspect that the water in that mug hadn't been an ordinary beverage. Perhaps the Fountain of Youth's supply had a little more potency offshore than Jack had told him, at least when it came to restoring health. It wasn't likely that he'd ever hear the full truth of the matter from Sparrow, but Ragetti was satisfied with his current condition nonetheless.

It seemed like he'd been receiving a lot of supernatural help lately. In addition to his recent revival, he also suspected that blowing his longboat all the way back to the _Pearl_ after their less than chipper reunion wasn't the first favor Calypso'd done him. Thinking back on his encounter with the shark near Pelegosto Island, Ragetti admitted that an underwater current suddenly coming along and lifting him back to the surface was an awfully big coincidence. He smiled knowingly and gazed out over the lazy ocean waves. The sea goddess must've felt like she owed him for setting her free again.

Calypso hadn't been his only reunion though; the prodigal crewman had enjoyed plenty more over the past twenty-four hours. Murtogg and Mullroy had come below deck to see him an hour or so after his talk with Sparrow yesterday. They'd both offered their sympathies for Pintel's death and full-heartedly backed up the captain's story about Charlotte. Not only had she used the compass to sail the _Black_ _Pearl _straight to its former commander on Barbados, but she'd also kept her possession of the magic device a secret until Mullroy'd spotted Ragetti's crippled longboat from the ratlines. It was a trade that Jack couldn't bear to pass up, and so he'd grudgingly brought his ship around and picked up the unconscious drifter.

It wasn't until this morning, as he'd emerged onto the main deck and made his way over to the ratlines, that Ragetti'd had the chance to see Charlotte again. The encounter had been brief; he'd spotted her adjusting the rigging across the deck and slowed down to watch her curiously. She'd turned around a moment later and spotted him back, then welcomed him back with a smile of quiet relief. He'd returned that smile with equal composure, then nodded to her and started his climb to the crow's nest. He was immensely grateful to Charlotte for what she'd done, but his feelings ended there.

Up on the platform, Ragetti leaned back on his hands and took in more of the tranquil atmosphere. Pinters would've been happy to know he'd found the _Pearl_ again.

His recuperation below deck had given the young man plenty of time to think. He bore no ill feelings towards Oscar or Rebecca, but Captain Jack was right: Pintel was the one who'd _really_ been a parent to him. Behind his rocky exterior, the grumpy old buccaneer had always loved his nephew like a son and shown it one way or another. That was the real reason why he'd tried to keep his bitter confrontation with Rebecca a secret—he'd wanted Ragetti to always feel safe with him. In fact, it was _because_ of Ragetti that Pintel hadn't pulled the trigger on his sister in the first place all those years ago—without even realizing it, he'd held back every fiber of his anger and hatred in order to spare the life an innocent unborn child. His nephew _had_ saved him after all, and now Robert Pintel was finally at peace.

And Ragetti wasn't just accepting that fact because Jack Sparrow'd said it either. His own instinct told him it was true.

It was right then that, unbeknownst to the reveling watchman, a scraggly wide-eyed head peeked up over the side edge of the crow's nest to observe him. The head belonged to a boy, roughly fifteen years old with a mess of rust-colored hair that jutted out in every direction. He stared at Ragetti for an entire minute before he spoke up.

"You're him ain't you?"

Startled, Ragetti whipped his head around and stared back at the kid. "…Well I sure ain't a _her_," he replied awkwardly.

The boy shimmied the rest of the way up to the platform and sat against the mast. "You're the fellow they found in the longboat all by hisself," he insisted somewhat anxiously.

Ragetti gave a stiff nod and continued to study the timid youngster. Sparrow must've just recruited him in the past couple of months.

The lad edged a little closer with an inquisitive gleam in his eye. "They all says you gone mad from scurvy."

Despite his confusion, Ragetti let out a dry laugh. "No, I didn't. I 'fink it were the heat what made _me_ go mad."

He glanced casually down at the deck then and was able to pick out Charlotte in the bustling crowd. She must've lost her tri-cornered hat since he'd been gone. It was the first time he'd seen her on deck without it, and her dark brown hair was tied back to keep it from blowing in her face. Now that he noticed at it, he had to admit it wasn't a bad look for her.

The boy crept closer and followed his gaze. "You been looking at her a lot," he keenly observed. "You like her, don't you?"

Ragetti shrugged his shoulder without looking away from Charlotte. "Maybe a li'l."

"Go talk to her."

The older man suddenly turned to glare at the prying redhead. "Why?"

"Why not?" The boy was being dead serious.

"'Cause I doesn't like her _that_ much."

"You know she saved you? Told the whole lot of them to drop anchor and haul you aboard. I think she likes you."

Ragetti's expression softened and he took another glimpse at the woman. "…Or maybe she's just a friend returnin' an old favor." He said it mostly to himself.

Deciding to back off for now, the kid crawled backwards and began climbing down the ropes again. "Well," he said in parting, "you should go talk to her."

The other pirate didn't miss a beat. "I will if you give me that whale back." He didn't even twitch his head in the boy's direction.

His antsy visitor froze in mid-step. Sure enough, there was something clenched tightly in his left hand. Ragetti eyed the boy expectantly, prompting him to hand back the swiped wood carving. The little pickpocket then climbed back up to sit guiltily next to his elder.

The watchman paused to admire his finished creation. "Ever 'eard of Jonas from th'Bible?" he asked idly. "'E were lost at sea fer a couple days too. Got swallowed up by one of these beauties. Then when it spit 'im out…'e were a changed man."

The lad glanced up at him nervously but said nothing. His spindly lecturer turned to meet his stare. "What's yer name?"

"Jasper."

Ragetti considered it thoughtfully. "That's a good name fer a pirate. Means 'master of the treasure.'"

The boy, Jasper, paused and lowered his head again. He still needed more coaxing after his slipup.

The blonde man patiently motioned to himself then. "Thomas."

It was enough to stir up a hint of Jasper's muted nosiness. "…What's that mean?"

Ragetti smiled at his wooden whale and serenely turned his sights forward. He could just see the outline of an airborne pelican ahead in the distance. "Whatever I want it to."

Far below them at the _Black Pearl_'s wheel, Jack Sparrow smirked at the odd pair and looked to the horizon again.

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THE END

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Well, this is it folks. It took two years and thirty-two grueling chapters, but I finished this story. Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing it so loyally all that time. Writing wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable for me if I thought nobody was following my work.

For those of you who are sad to see "Paradise of the Mind" end, I want to tell you I'm planning to post a one-chapter follow up called "To Pass the Time." It should be up in a couple of days, so keep an eye on my author profile if you're interested!

-KRRouse


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